The Red Fox
by firebird423
Summary: A new family has entered the Game of Thrones, the Fadyns of Star's Reach. Follow Trysten Fadyn, the Red Fox, and his family as they struggle to find their role in Westeros and secure their dynasty's place in history, or crumble to nothingness. Will the foxes be trapped and skinned, or forever alter the way this game is played, and the winners? I'm bad at summary.
1. Chapter 1

_Authors Note: Hey Guys, so I just started this story, I'd love for an rates or reviews. I have a general idea of where I'd like the story to go, but am welcome to any suggestions, feel free to PM me any new characters you think could be an interesting addition, I'm always looking for more. This story is probably gonna go off canon later on, but for now I'm sticking to it generally, but if I pass the show I'll probably start looking to the books. I'll do my best to avoid spoilers but some will probably be inevitable. For now, this is just an introductory chapter for a few new characters, but more exposition and elaboration will come in future chapters as well. Let me know what you think! _

_Trysten_

"Here they come boys!"

Trysten Fadyn was sitting astride his horse, surrounded by his father Marius' household guard. His father rode a black destrier, clad in the sky blue and white colors of House Fadyn. He carried a banner with their crest, a fox against a field divided into four quadrants of blue and white. His bastard brother Iagan was on his fathers left.

Trysten was only seventeen, a boy by many's standards, and not quite a man yet. He was new to battle, but his father, the brilliant commander Marius had taught him well, and he had served as a mercenary, gaining experience quickly and earning him a reputation as a clever and fierce commander. He had reddish gold hair, which glinted copper in the sunlight, and bright, golden eyes. Although he was young, he was strong and lean, not big compared to some of the other boys he had grown up with, his half-brother Iagan stood almost a head taller, but not short either. The sunlight gleamed off his polished, silvery white armor, as his Destrier Quicksilver, named for his speed and silver coat, whinnied and pawed at the ground, anticipating the battle to come.

Although traditionally serving the Arryns of the Vale, House Fadyn had taken up arms with the Starks of Winterfell. Although not a vastly powerful house, the Fadyns commanded respect for their skill at arms, and could raise a sizable four thousand men form their seat of Star's Reach, a city located on the coast of the Vale. They defied the wishes of Lady Arryn to remain neutral, and instead chose to serve the King in the North, Robb stark, to honor Marius' friendship with Robb's murdered father, Lord Eddard, who had served alongside him in Robert's Rebellion and then the Greyjoy Rebellion. Now, Starks, Fadyns, and Tullys fought side by side again, although this time against a new threat, the Lannisters.

The Lannister footmen were advancing, sunlight gleaming off their crimson armor. This would be another of the minor skirmishes the Fadyns had fought against the Lannisters, and although vastly outmatched in terms of manpower and resources, Lord Marius was perceptive enough to only fight isolated engagements on his own terms, realizing that Tywin Lannister would never risk an attack on Star's Reach or risk evoking the Vale's wrath. This time, his men held the high ground, occupying a hill on the road to Harrenhall, with a branch of the Trident on their left and woods too their right. There would be no bypassing this fight.

The Fadyn's had taken up position on the hill, with two thousand infantry forming the core of their force, which was centered around the Silverside Marines, the elite shock troops of House Fadyn. The Silversides were a prestigious and old order, formed during the age of Kings to protect the Fadyn's maritime interests from Ironborn raiders. Through years of combat, they had become an elite force of fighters.

The Lannisters had no choice but to advance, sending their skirmishing contingent up to the front lines. His father called for his own archers, and volleys of arrows rained down on the Lannister host, tearing through their ranks and devastating their skirmishers. The Lannister arrows and crossbow bolts took their toll as well though, and men stepped into the gaps to take the place of the fallen Fadyn soldiers. Volleys of arrows peppered Trysten's father's household guard. As a barrage of arrows landed among their ranks, Trysten raised his shield to protect himself, flipping his visor down. He could feel the arrows impact on his shield, chipping away at the Fox insignia on his shield. An arrow glanced off his shoulder guard, bouncing away and embedding in the dirt. He glanced to his left. Daven, his father's master at arms, grinned at him with an insane look on his eyes.

"Retinue! Swing left! We must get a better view of the fighting!" His father shouted, waving the standard. A horn sounded, and the contingent kicked their horses into action, nearly two hundred mounted knights thundering across the battlefield, behind the Fadyn infantry core. More arrows thudded into Trysten's shield, but he paid them no mind. His shield had protected him at Whispering Wood and would protect him again. His father rode ahead of the cavalry, leading the way to get a better view of the skirmish so he could effectively command his men. The wedge stopped at the crest of the hill, giving them a commanding overlook of the battle. The Lannister skirmishers were faltering, their numbers dwindling rapidly. The Fadyn men-at-arms had been relatively unhurt by the harrasment, and their lines remained intact. Horns sounded from the Lannister center, and banners quickly rode from what Trysten presumed to be the Commanding Officer's unit to the other units. He recognized the Lannister Lion, the Dogs of the Cleganes, as well as the colors of Houses Westerling, Marbrand, Lefford, Swyft, and Crakehall. The Lannister infantry advanced, screened by arrow fire from what was left of their archers.

"Today men, we fight for honor! We fight for duty! We fight for our families. The Lannister's seek to sit a bastard tyrant on the Iron Throne! Today, we defy tyranny, and protect our families from the sadist they support! We have all the advantages, and the gods our on our side! Fight hard, and we cannot lose! Fadyn _invicta_!" His father shouted to their men, and a cheers erupted, echoing him.

"Fadyn _invicta_! Fadyn _invicta_! Fadyn i_nvicta_!" They shouted, the unofficial motto of house Fadyn, Fadyn unconquered in old Valyrian. The men beat their swords, spears, and axes against their shields. The Lannisters charged, their infantry slamming into the center of the Fadyn line. Men screamed in agony and pain and the smell of blood and shit filled the air. Trysten grimaced. Combat was never as they described it in the songs. It was ugly. More arrows rained down on the melee, and Lord Marius shouted, wheeling his cavalry around to inspire his men. His visor had been flipped up, so his men could see his face as he shouted words of encouragement to them.

"Hold the line lads! They'll not break us!" He bellowed. Trysten's brother Iagan yelled to him.

"Trysten! He's too far up! He's too far up! His visor is down! We have to bring him back!"

He was right. In his effort to inspire and protect his troops, his father Marius had placed himself in a precarious position. With his visor flipped up, he was dangerously susceptible to the volleys of arrows being loosed into the fray, and a mounted man was a far more obvious target for any footman looking to gain some wealth. Trysten spurred Quicksilver towards his father, sword drawn. Iagan galloped behind him.

"Father!" Trysten shouted, gaining his attention. He was only a few yard away. His father turned to him, a look of realization on his eyes. He was surrounded. The Fadyn center had begun to devolve into a disorganized mass. Suddenly, his father toppled from the saddle.

"NO!" Trysten screamed in agony. Marius hit the ground with a deafening thud, his collapsing on a heap on the ground, an arrow protruding from his side. He heard Iagan gasp behind him. Lannister and Fadyn infantry closed in around his father, and Trysten screamed at them to help pull him to safety, his helm knocked off. He charged Quicksliver into the fray, slashing and hacking at the Lannister infantry as Lords Beckwyth and Seabury and Ser Daven helped pull his father up, into the saddle behind Trysten. His father clutched onto him, breathing shallowly. Trysten wheeled Quicksilver around, galloping back behind the lines. He screamed for a medic, and Maester Ormund ran over to him, bandages in hand. His father groaned as they lifted him out of the saddle onto the ground. The battle raged behind them. Ormund called for more bandages and order Trysten to put pressure on the wound, as blood spilled from the around the shaft of the arrow. His father's blood ran over his hands, warm, staining his father's and his own armor crimson. Tears ran down his face, his father's breathing was becoming shallower. Maester Ormund was working feverishly to save him, and his father coughed up more blood as the Maester broke the shaft of the arrow off, extracting the head. It had punched clean through his father's armor. His father motioned for Trysten to come closer, as his bannermen and Iagan closed in. He pulled Trysten up to his lips, whispering weakly; "These pretenders... they would destroy the realm... if only they could be King of the ashes... You must..." He coughed, blood splattering on Trysten's face but he didn't care, hanging on his father's every word, striving to hear them over the din of battle " You must... serve the true Queen... Only she can rule Westeros... You must... Protect the people... You will be a good Lord... I am proud of you... Serve the people...When I am gone…We shall adapt." He sputtered, his breathing becoming more an more ragged.

"No! You can't die! I need you! Iagan needs you! Your family needs you! You're not going to die!" Then, the ragged breathing stopped. The Maester backed away, shaking his head, a tear running down his cheek. Trysten collapsed over his father's corpse. He heard a strangled gasp escape from Iagan. His body was racked with sobs. He felt a gauntlet on his shoulder. Lord Beckwyth, his father's closest friend, turned towards him. Tears were in his eyes, and he had removed his helm.

"Trysten, the fight isn't done yet. The line is breaking. The men have seen you're father fall, and he will be missed, but if we don't act we cannot win" He said somberly. Men streamed past him, fleeing the battle alone or in pairs. Trysten had seen enough battles to know that that trickle would soon become a tide of men fleeing the front line to safety.

"What's the point?" He sobbed. "My father is dead! Killed by the damn Lannisters! The men have lost heart! The battle is lost."

"Then... Retreat, my lord?" Lord Beckwyth asked, waiting for his order. My Lord. He was the Lord now. He was in command. He recalled his father's last words. _Protect the people_. The Lannister's still sought to place a sadist on the Iron Throne, and the realm still burned. Men still died, fighting for his father. Fighting for him. We shall adapt. The words of House Fadyn. He had to adapt. He needed to protect them. He stood.

"No. The time to mourn will come." He mounted Quicksilver, a determined look in his eye. He shouted commands to his father's, no, his, bannermen.

"Beckwyth, take half the cavalry and see if you can route those damned archers. Iagan, I'm giving you command of the Rangers, take them up the right flank, see if you can put a dent in the Lannister knights, then hit the infantry from behind. I'll take the other half of the cavalry up the center." His lords rode out, banners waving in the breeze behind him. More men streamed past him. They wore his own colors, the Fadyn Fox, the Beckwyth Sharks, the Red and Yellow horses of the Seabury's, his men. They ran from the battle. If he didn't act quickly the line would break and then his men would be butchered. He did the only thing he could think of. He lowered his lance, and charged headlong into the melee.

"FADYN INVICTA!" He screamed, slamming into the line. His lance splintered, impaling a Lannister soldier through the chest, who clutched at it and fell. Blood ran down his silvery armour, making him look like a demon. Trysten fought like a madman, hacking and slashing and Lannister infantry, cutting them down. He was felt a hand on his reigns, and he was thrown from the saddle, landing on the ground in the middle of the fray. He felt a body on top of him, flipping his visor up, a dagger in hand. The Lannister grinned at him with a crooked smile, ready to kill him, until his head was split open by an axe moments later. The Silverside grabbed Trysten, pulling him off the ground. He wrenched his sword free from underneath the Lannister, nodding in thanks to the Silverside, as the man bashed another man with the brunt of his shield, knocking him to the ground before finishing him with a quick blow from his axe. Trysten stabbed at another man, driving his sword through his gut and twisting. The man screamed in agony, but Trysten's bloodlust was up. He screamed incoherently, cutting through the mass of Lannisters, his household guard following behind him, carving a bloody path through the fray. He saw the Fadyn Banner begin to waver, as the Silverside carrying it turned his back. Trysten dropped his shield, grabbing the banner and waving it high for all to see.

"To me! To me! Fadyn _invicta!_ Fadyn _invicta!_" He could sense his men turning around, looking at him. Men paused their flight from the battle, staring at him, and slowly, they rejoined the melee. It started as a trickle of men, returning, charging back in screaming like demons, but as more men saw Trysten, more returned. Seeing the boy-lord, screaming bloody murder, his silver armor stained red with blood, his armor glistening in the sunlight, inspired them, and they returned in a flood, and fought with a vengeance.

_Iagan_

His father was dead. Killed by Lannister archers. His brother was the new lord of Star's Reach. He couldn't help but cry. But there was work that needed to be done, and he had been given a mission. His brother had ordered him to scatter the Lord's retinue and placed him in command of the Rangers.

He knew he could do it. At his disposal, he had nearly five hundred rangers. Armoured knights and skilled scouts, they protected Star's Reach from the hill tribes. They were made up of battle-hardened veterans, and rode the fastest horses Star's Reach had to offer. Each man carried a Dothraki Bow, and was a capable horse archer, as well as a master of camouflage as their job required, but when the time came, they could match the finest knights in Westeros. They had remained hidden in the woods as Lord Marius had ordered, waiting to spring their trap. Now, was their chance. Iagan nodded to his second in command, who blew his warhorn. A volley of arrows slammed into the Lannister Cavalry retinue, tearing through armor and flesh, and sending the retinue reeling in shock, losing almost half their number before the second volley even hit. Men and horses screamed and rolled as arrows ripped through them, completely disoriented as the arrows slammed into their unprotected side from seemingly nowhere.

His men burst out from the woods, lances lowered, all spurring their horses towards the Lannister Cavalry. The Lannisters didn't have a chance. Lances splintered and shattered as the Lannister's failed to coordinate a cohesive charge, and they were quickly routed from the field. Iagan turned his attention to the melee on the hill. Lord Beckwyth had routed the remaining Lannister archers, and Trysten seemed to have control of the melee. He could see the shields of the Silversides returning to combat, and could see the Fadyn banner flying proudly over the melee as men shouted and screamed and bled and died below it. The Lannister banner faltered, and Iagan saw his moment. He wheeled the Ranger cavalry around, charging headlong into the rear of the Lannister lines, shattering them. His sword caught in the throat of a Lannister sargeant, who gurgled blood and fell, clutching his throat. His men had collapsed the Lannister lines, and men fled around them, being cut down as they ran. The battle was theirs.

_Trysten_:

The battle was over. The men cheered, pounding their weapons against their shields as Iagan and his Rangers ran the Lannister's down, cutting them down in their tracks. He cheered with exhilaration. They had won. He was alive. His body ached with exhaustion and sadness as the bloodlust slowly left him, the adrenaline finally running it's course. As he gazed around him, he saw the price they had paid for their victory. He could no longer even grip his sword, and although men gathered around him, cheering, chanting his name. His armor was coated in blood, although none of it appeared to be his. His cloak was tattered, and Quicksilver had run back to the camp. His armor was scratched, but he was lucky. Many men, including his father, had paid the ultimate price for this victory. Some still crawled around, groaning, calling for their mothers or their gods or cursing the day they were born. Some merely whimpered quietly, the last vestiges of life escaping their body. Many more were silent. The grass was slick with blood and the soil had been churned to mud. He watched as Iagan's Rangers chased the Lannisters through the river, cutting them down, as the river ran red. They had won, but at what cost?


	2. Chapter 2 Part 1

_Authors Note:_ _ Hey guys, hope you liked the first chapter, as always, please review and critique, it'll help me write better. Robb is coming up, and this chapter should help introduce some characters and get the ball really rolling. It seems to be a pretty long one, so I'm going to split it into two._

_Chapter Two:_

_Trysten_

It had been a day since the battle. The Lannister force had been completely destroyed, its remnants scattered. The commander of the force had been unknown, probably some garrison commander just looking to link up with a larger force. He might've been killed, or might've simply run off with his tail between his legs. Either way, the Lannister forces in the region had been completely scattered, and the area was now firmly under their control. Trysten had called a meeting of his father's bannermen.

_No, HIS bannermen._ He had to keep correcting himself, it was a strange thought to think he was in command now. His father had been killed, and he was Lord of Star's Reach now. He had already received a letter from Lysa Arryn, demanding he swear fealty to her and return to the Eyrie. His father's cryptic words still echoed in his head though.

_Serve the true Queen._ The true queen. Trysten's head ached. He had sat by his father's bedside that night, keeping a silent vigil over him, pondering what he had meant. Could he mean Lysa? No. He had spent a summer with her and Lord Arryn in the Eyrie. The woman was mad. She had fawned over her newborn baby, obsessing over the sickly thing. Lord Robin was young, naive, sickly, and dull-witted. He couldn't have possibly meant Lady Arryn, her son would never be fit to rule the seven kingdoms, and though he liked the boy, he would never support him, even if Robin was willing to ever leave his castle and fight. Besides, his father had never hid his dislike of Lady Arryn. That much was clear when he had overstepped her and joined Robb Stark in his rebellion. His father mistrusted her and her relationship with Lord Baelish, he couldn't have meant her.

But if not Lady Arryn, who? Cersei? No. Definitely not. Trysten laughed to himself.

"Lord Trysten?" It was Ser Daven, his father's master at arms.

"Daven, come in." He greeted him warmly. Daven had been busy, looking after the men, tending to their needs. He still wore his worn armor, he hadn't taken it off since the battle, a sign of mourning for his Lord Marius. Earlier in the day, Trysten had seen Daven sparring with the men. Trysten remembered his own days as a boy, when Ser Daven had first taught him to fight. Daven had been no older than he was now, he had just earned his knighthood after squiring for his father, and his father had always thought of Daven as another son. He was like an older brother to Trysten, and though he had aged, he had just passed his thirtieth nameday, he still had the youthful vitality Trysten had admired in him. Though today, he was despondent and looked exhausted. His sigil, a black rose, seemed especially grim today.

"You asked for me My Lord?"

"Yes" He answered. "I'm just waiting for the others to come in." As if on cue, his father's other main bannermen entered the tent. Lords Beckwyth and Seabury, talking quietly, Lord Dayport, hobbling in slowly on his bad leg, and Lord Maslyn Eddleston. All of them had served his father faithfully.

"My Lords, please, sit." He said, gesturing to the table on which he had laid out a map of westeros.

"Lord Trysten, your father's death was most unfortunate. I am deeply sorry for your loss. Your father was a good man. One of the most courageous men I had ever known. He will be sorely missed." Lord Dayport said. He had always been a loyal servant of his father's, and Trysten expected Dayport to serve him just as loyally. The man was old, but wise. He had been badly wounded fighting at the Battle of the Trident during Robert's Rebellion, and still walked with a limp to this day. His beard had long gone white, and after Lord Marius' father had been killed, Lord Dayport had taken him in, mentoring him in the Eyrie, where Marius had grown close with Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark. It was Marius' friendship with Eddard that dragged the Fadyns into this war.

"Thank you for your condolences Lord Dayport. It has obviously come to all of your attention that with my father gone, I must fill his place as Lord of Star's Reach. You all faithfully supported my father, will you support me and swear allegiance to me?" Trysten asked.

Lord Beckwyth was the first to speak. "Trysten, you're a good lad. I remember the days you and Errek played in the courtyard as boys, but you're a man now. The war's shown that much, and you showed your mettle during that scrap. For the love I bear you, and you're late father, you have my sword."

"Aye, and mine" Lord Seabury stood.

"And mine" Dayport stood. All eyes turned to Lord Maslyn Eddleston, who remained seated. Maslyn had always been ambitious. A lord of only thirty years of age, he had always hungered for power. The Eddlestons were a powerful family in the Vale, and Trysten knew he needed his support.

"Seven hells. You're still just a lad. Why should I follow you?" He said.

"Why? You served my father. Your father served his father before him. If you won't serve me, fine go. You've yet to wet your sword yet though Maslyn. I've known combat. I've killed men. I've watched my father die. I may be young, but I'm no green boy. If you serve me, I can't promise you power, fame, or glory, but I promise you, I will serve my people, my Lords. If you won't do it for me, do it for my father. He died for his friendship, would you do the same?" The council was silent. Maslyn glowered at Trysten for a moment. Then, he stood, his eyes steeled and determined. He drew his sword from his sheath, walking towards where Trysten sat, at the head of the table. Trysten's own hand reached for his sword hilt, grasping at the pommel. Eddleston stood for a moment in front of Trysten, who now stood. He tossed his sword to the ground.

"You have House Eddleston's support. Use it wisely." He said. Trysten smiled, embracing him. His lords clapped Maslyn on the back, smiling.

_Iagan_

He had been called to the command tent for a meeting of Trysten's war council. All of his father's bannermen had sworn fealty to Trysten. Now, they had to plan their next move. Iagan had been called to represent the Rangers. Although only sixteen, he was already a captain in the Rangers, commanding his own contingent of eighty men. He had first been inducted into the rangers at the age of only thirteen, the youngest Ranger ever inducted, after he stopped an attempt to burn the Godswood in Star's Reach to the ground. Star's Reach had been founded by the first men, and was one of the oldest castles in Westeros. Accordingly, it had one of the largest Godswoods south of the wall, and was the oldest Godswood in the South. When the Andals had first arrived in Westeros, they had attempted to take Star's Reach seven times, and had been repulsed seven times. The Fadyn's adherence to the old gods was still a sore spot for many of the Southron lords, especially the Arryns, who prided themselves on their Andal lineage.

The Rangers had been formed to protect the Godswood, and over the years, their role had evolved into an all purpose elite battalion. As of late, their primary roles had been as scouts, and the Rangers were famed for their stealth capabilities. They were masters of archery, each man skilled with the Dothraki bow, and still rode Dothraki horses, stolen by Galladon the Fox, who became Lord of Star's Reach and founded the Fadyn line. The Ranger's also functioned as the Fadyn's primary combat unit, and had become skilled lancers and knights as they fought the hill tribes that had plagued the Lord's of Star's Reach with raids and attacks.

But Iagan was no Fadyn. Though he was certain his father Marius had loved him, the reminders of his illegitimacy were always present. When he was inducted to the Rangers, he had been forced to create his own sigil. He had chosen a burning weirwood as his sigil, flames surrounding the tree but never consuming it.

He was, however, Trysten's brother, and Ser Quentin, the Ranger's commander, had sent him to represent them on Trysten's council while and the other Ranger contingents scouted for signs of Lannister activity. When he entered the war tent, council was already in session, in the midst of heated debate. Lord Dayport had advised Trysten to return to the Vale, his father's war was not his own, he stated.

Lord Seabury however, staunchly opposed him. Seabury always was looking for a fight, he thought with a grin. The man was strong, in his mid forties but he could still swing a war hammer better than Robert Baratheon himself.

The debate went silent as Iagan entered the room. Trysten stood, looking at the war map spread in front of him, Lannister lions, Stark Direwolves, Tully Trout, Baratheon Stags and Fadyn Foxes decorated the map, placed to represent the major armies. Trysten, noting the silence, turned. Seeing his half-brother, he gave a sad smile, embracing his brother in a hug.

"It's good to see you brother, I need you here, save me from these blasted Lords" he whispered to Iagan. Iagan had to stifle a laugh. Trysten always knew how to see the humor in the darkest situations.

Iagan took his place at the table, sitting down. Lord Seabury regarded him coldly, he had never been fond of Iagan. Maslyn Eddleston regarded him with that same disinterested look as always. Lord Dayport nodded at him politely, and Lord Beckwyth returned to the discussion.

"We should head south. With that last force destroyed, the Riverlands have been left open. If we drive south, we could retake what the Lannisters have destroyed and catch them off guard. Maybe we could even drag that damned Tywin Lannister out of Harrenhall after us."

"Nonsense, Tywin would never leave that fortress. We should head back to Star's Reach, My Lord. This war is none of our business, and Lady Arryn has demanded our presence at court. It would be wise to avoid angering her." Lord Dayport retorted.

Lord Seabury spoke up "What, and run back to our castles with our tails between our legs? The Lords of the Vale are already seen as cowards enough, hiding behind their walls and simply waiting this war out. If we show a strong front, we could earn the respect of the rest of the realm. I say we head north, join our forces with Robb Starks. The Young Wolf hasn't lost a battle yet, and we could bolster his forces with our own. There's strength in numbers. Swear fealty to Robb, your father served him, Lord Trysten, why shouldn't you?"

The council erupted into shouts. "Swear fealty to a northman? Never!" Beckwyth shouted. "It's madness! We have a chance to rescind our treason!" Dayport said. The shouts had become indistinguishable. Iagan sat silently, listening, just as Trysten did. Trysten smashed his fist on the table, causing the pieces to jump. The tent went silent.

"Iagan, what do you think?" He asked. Iagan paused for a moment, considering the options.

"It seems to me my Lord" he paused again, gods it was strange calling him that, " that if we drove South, we could retake the conquered Riverlands. But Tywin Lannister is no fool. He'd never be leave Harrenhall to chase us. He'd send his dogs to do it for him, and we'd be cut off, with no reinforcements. We are not a large force, if they caught us in a fair fight they'd destroy us. To fight them alone we'd have to continue to pick them off piecemeal. If we head back to the Vale, Lady Arryn will demand our fealty and withdrawal from the war. If I may speak frankly, the woman is a bit mad, and what would it say about us if we simply abandoned the cause, especially one that father died fighting for. I say we go north, meet with Robb Stark. We still fight for him, he deserves to know our plans. We don't need to swear fealty to him, but at least make it clear he still has our support, and learn what his plans are." Iagan said. The chamber was silent for a moment.

"The bastard's idea has merit." Lord Seabury said. Lord Beckwyth, Lord Eddleston, and Ser Daven nodded in agreement. Lord Dayport sighed.

"I'm getting to old for this blasted war. If we do choose to throw our lot in with the Starks, then Iagan's plan makes the most sense." Dayport said.

Ser Daven spoke up. "My Lord, I served your father as his master-at-arms for years. Before that, I served him as a squire. Allow me to serve him one more time, let me bring him back to Star's Reach to be buried. He deserves to be with his ancestors, not in some grave here in the Riverlands."

Trysten nodded. "It's settled then. Daven, you will head back to Star's Reach, take the wounded with you. As for the rest of us, we ride for the Stark camp. Have your men ready to ride by tomorrow." The council nodded, standing up and exiting the tent. As the other lords left, Trysten called Iagan back.

"Thanks for the advice. You did well. Father would be proud."

"Of course. I know you're taking it hard. I know you're under a lot of pressure, but if you ever need to talk..." He trailed off. Trysten nodded.

"Thanks. I'll remember that. It's been tough, but there'll be time to mourn later. Right now, there's work to be done. We shall adapt, right?" He asked with a sad smile.

"We shall adapt. Fadyn Invicta." Iagan smiled back. He walked out of the tent. There Trysten was right. There was work to be done, and his men needed to be ready. He walked to his own tent to begin preparing for the journey.


	3. Chapter 2 Part 2

_Authors Note: Hey guys, I promised the second half of chapter two, here it is. Thanks so much to everyone who followed, as always please review and follow, it lets me know how I'm writing. Also, I'm still looking for any other characters, so if you have someone interesting please PM me. Hope you enjoy!_

_Tywin_

The damn Fadyns had destroyed his newest host. He had been sitting in the great hall of Harrenhall. He had sent the captain of his guard south to raise a new group of levies so he could take Robb Stark in the field, but the damn Fadyns had intercepted the recruits and scattered his host. His captain of the guard had given him the news. His horse collapsed from exhaustion after taking him from the battle all the way to Harrenhall, and he had not lasted much longer. A pity, now Tywin had to send someone else to take his place. Perhaps Lord Lefford or another of his bannermen. The damned foxes were clever, that much was true. The only consolation he had received for the loss of his men was the knowledge that Lord Marius Fadyn had been killed in the fighting, succeeded by his son Trysten. Good riddance. Tywin had always hated Marius. The man was a brilliant strategist, that much was true, but he was too damned self-righteous, like Eddard Stark. Funny how the righteous ones always end up dead. Tywin chuckled to himself.

The boy could be a threat though. He was already widely popular with the smallfolk, they called him "The Red Fox". He had taken command of his men after his father had been killed, and utterly routed his forces. To be fair, Tywin's late captain was a fool, attacking a superior force uphill head on, but he the boy had been clever. He had sprung an ambush with his crack shock troops, charging into the fray to inspire his men. A cunning little fox.

The Fadyns had been a pain in Tywins side for too long. They had been smart enough to never engage Tywin in a pitched battle, instead ambushing his supply trains, picking off his scouts, intercepting his forces, and generally making a nuisance of themselves. But the fox would learn not to fight the lion. The Lion had claws and teeth, and Tywin would do what he did with all the other foxes. He would burn them out. He was going hunting. He called Ser Gregor Clegane to his chambers.

_Trysten_

He had arrived at the Stark camp. It had been five days since the battle, five days since his father's death and he became Lord. Upon his arrival, he tied up Quicksilver in the stables, seeing to his grooming and care before going to check in on his men. His father had always told him that a Lord's first priority should be the wellbeing of the men who serve him, who are willing to give their lives for him.

Robb Stark had summoned him to his command tent. He was nervous. He hadn't seen Robb since his visit to Winterfell with his father after his eleventh name day. Robb had always been kind to him, and he had stayed in Winterfell for almost eight months while his father was overseas. But war changed men. Though he and Robb had been friends, who has to say that Robb hadn't changed, or that he hadn't.

He lifted the flap of the command tent. Robb sat in a throne in the center of the tent, flanked by his mother and a woman who Trysten presumed to be his wife. He had heard Robb had gotten married to some Volantene girl. She was beautiful, that much was true. Robb had grown. He had grown a beard, or at least some scruff. His bannermen stood behind him. Trysten recognized Lords Bolton and the Greatjon. They had both visited Winterfell during his stay there. He walked into the tent, kneeling in the center.

"Your Grace". He said cautiously.

"Lord Trysten, it's good to see you." Robb smiled. Apparently he had not forgotten their friendship either.

"You remember my mother, Lady Catelyn" Robb said, Trysten nodded.

"Lady Catelyn, it's good to see you."

"Trysten, my how you've grown. My deepest condolences for your loss."

"Thank you my lady." Trysten nodded politely.

"And this is my wife. Queen Talisa Maegyr." Trysten nodded, getting a better look at Robb's wife now as she rose to greet him. She presented her hand, and he kissed it politely.

"Your grace, I had heard you were beautiful, but the tales understate it." It was true. She was tall, with beautiful brown hair and a strong, lithe body.

"Thank you Lord Trysten, I've heard much about you from my husband." She smiled at him.

"Thats enough flirting thank you, I remind you that is my wife!" Robb shouted at him, dead serious. The room was completely silent. Trysten wasn't sure what to do, he could feel his heart racing.

"Your grace, I hadn't meant to offend I-" Robb cut him off, laughing. He smiled.

"I was merely joking my Lord, don't be so serious" he said with a laugh. "My lords, leave Lord Trysten and I, we have much to talk about, he said with a smile, gesturing to his bannermen to dismiss them. The other occupants of the tent exited. When they were gone, Robb stood.

"Enough of the damn formalities." He hugged Trysten. "It's good to see you my friend."

"You too Robb" Trysten smiled, glad to see Robb hadn't changed.

"Let us walk". Robb guided him out of his tent, walking around the camp. Stark men-at-arms walked through the camp, and Trysten could here the sounds of laughter and steel on steel echoing through the camp. His own banners mingled with the Starks.

"You've grown Trysten, you look good. Still can't grow a beard on that face of yours to save a life though." He said with a laugh.

"I'll take that over the peach fuzz you've grown out." Trysten responded, grinning. Robb whistled, his Direwolf Grey Wind came running too him. Trysten started.

"It's okay, he's tame, his name is Grey Wind." Trysten took a step towards the massive wolf.

"May I?"

"Be my guest." Trysten examined Grey Wind, letting him sniff his palm and petting him. Grey Winds tail began to wag.

"He likes you," Robb said laughing. "You always did have a way with animals. Still raising foxes?"

"Yeah, Grey Wind reminds me a lot of Mickel". Trysten thought back to his pet fox. Normally, Mickel would have come with him on his travels, riding in a seat attached to his saddle on Quicksilver. But, Mickel had had pups, and Trysten hadn't wanted to take him on campaign.

"I miss him, I miss home." He said. Robb nodded, understanding.

"We've been forced to grow up. I'm sorry about your father. He was a good man." Robb's mood turned somber.

"Yours too. We'll get our revenge. He always was a noble man. He'd be proud of you." Robb gave him a sad smile.

"I broke my oath. I married Talisa."

"Frey won't like it, do you truly love her?" Robb suddenly grew distant.

"With all my heart." Trysten smiled at him. He had never been in love, he knew he couldn't relate.

"I'm happy for you. She seems like a nice girl. The young wolf needs to build a pack." Trysten said with a smirk. Robb grinned at his implication.

"And the red fox doesn't? You know that's what they call you now. Aren't we quite the pair. The red fox and the young wolf. I always new that hair of yours would get you into trouble." Trysten feigned offense as Robb tousled his hair. Trysten punched him in his arm. Robb laughed.

"You never could punch."

"I still hit better than Jon." Robb laughed again.

"It really is good to see you Trysten. It reminds me of when we were younger. I'm glad to see nothing's changed. You're still a good man."

"Thank you your grace."

"Trysten, I know you're Lords said you wouldn't swear fealty to me. I understand. But you do still serve me in this war, do you not?"

"Of course Robb."

"Then I have a favor to ask. Talisa's father is powerful. He lives in Volantis, and has wealth and power. We need his money and his men. You've been east, correct?"

"Yeah, I served in the second sons for two years, all Fadyns do. We were in the free cities for the most part. "

"Good. I need an ambassador to Lord Maegyr. I'd send someone else, but Theon is in the Iron Islands, Jon is at the wall, I need my bannermen here, and I'd send my mother or Talisa but I fear for their safety on the journey. You're my friend. I need someone I can trust to represent me overseas. Can I count on you?"

"But, my men your grace. Who will lead them in my stead?"

"You can nominate your representative. Maybe your brother or uncle Scipio? I trust he is well?"

"Yes, he just returned from another tour with the second sons. He could do well."

"Then you'll go?"

"I am at your service your grace. I'll leave tomorrow for Star's Reach where I'll take a ship to Volantis to meet with Lord Maegyr." Robb smiled gratefully.

"Thank you Trysten."


	4. Chapter 3

_Authors Note: Hey guys, here's chapter three, hope you guys are enjoying it so far. If you are please review or PM me. If anyone has any comments on the OC characters so far or may portrayal of the original characters please let me know, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Things are starting to be set in motion now, so please bear with me! Also, as I've said before, I'm still looking for a few other original characters to add in, and if you have one you think you'd like included please please please message me, and I'll do my best to work them in, I'd like to make this a bit more inclusive of people. Anyways, here it is, let me know what you think! Anyways, here it is, enjoy! _

_Iagan:_

His uncle Scipio had taken command while his half-brother Trysten had left for Star's Reach so he could travel to Volantis on a diplomatic mission. Meanwhile, he was still here, still commanding his company of Rangers.

Scipio was his father's older brother, and by right he should have inherited Star's Reach. However, Scipio had fallen in love with Hannah Thorne, a bastard daughter of some Tyrell man during Robert's Rebellion. Hannah was loved by the Tyrells, and Scipio was happy with her, but Scipio and his own father's father Marcus had betrothed Scipio to Sussana Tanier, daughter of Lord Tanier of the Shimmering Atoll. Marcus had disowned Scipio and Marius married Lady Sussana instead. Scipio had left Star's Reach, serving as a member of the Second Sons for ten years, before returning to Star's Reach when he recieved news of his father's illness which would eventually kill him, after which Marius allowed him to return.

However, the black mark on his honor and his disownment never left him, and caused him to adopt his banner, earning him the nickname "the Black Fox". Scipio was a hard man from his years as a mercenary, but he had shown Iagan a degree of love and respect no one ever had, even his father. Scipio understood him, as he had experienced the feeling of being a bastard. He had been living in Highgarden, but word was that he was riding to the Stark camp to take command, bringing his son Ormund with him. Ormund was four years older than Iagan, almost twenty, but they had always been friends.

He surveyed the terrain before him. A wide expanse of plain, fields of wheat and grasses. Robb had sent the Rangers on a scouting mission south, to Harrenhall. Iagan had ridden ahead with two of his lieutenants, Galtry and Crispian. They were both Ranger outriders. The outriders were the most experienced Rangers, constantly serving as scouts and the best stealth soldiers at his disposal. The smallfolk had concoted rumors about the outriders, telling each other they used black magic and secret rites to become invisible and strike without warning, or that they were vengeful spirits, or demons, but Iagan new it was simply a result of years of training, combined with their camouflage cloaks. Nevertheless, the outrider's ability to appear and disappear at will was uncanny, and Crispian's sudden appearance startled him. He had seemingly come from nowhere. These men were good, his most experienced.

"Captain, we've spotted a Lannister caravan, moving south. Fifty guards as an escort, all mounted. They haven't seemed to have posted any sentries. Six wagons, they seem to be carrying weapons and supplies." Iagan nodded, he had counted roughly as many when as the convoy passed them, only forty paces away. He hadn't been seen though, his cloak helped him blend in among the grass and rocks, and the Lannisters had been completely oblivious to the fact that they were being watched. He could've picked off six of them with his bow before they even knew they were under attack.

_ Fifty though, good_, he thought. Although he barely outnumbered the Lannister convoy, his men were all veteran fighters. When he had taken over, he had been given Company Nympha, the worst company in the rangers. The men had been drunk more often than not, and their skill on horseback was laughable. When he had been given command though, he whipped them into shape, turning the Nymphs, as they were affectionately called, into one of the finest units in the rangers. Crispian and Galtry had been with him from the beginning, each grizzled veterans of numerous fights with the hill tribes.

His men could handle the Lannisters, they had the element of surprise, and his men could pick a man on horseback off with their Dothraki bows at four hundred paces. Now, he just needed to find the right spot to spring a trap. He crawled forward, his cloak concealing him, just as he had been taught, silent and invisible. When he reached the edge of the rock face, he surveyed the road. For the most part, the road ran through relatively open space, a few minor hills and knolls spotted the landscape, but no real cover to speak of, this would be more difficult than he thought. However, there was a small section of road that ran between two small hills. He could conceal his men on the reverse slope, and fire into the convoy from over the hill. Perfect.

"Lieutenant Galtry, take your unit around the reverse slope of that hill there, on the left," he whispered, gesturing too the far hill. "Crispian, you'll be with me, we'll conceal on the right. Galtry, when I give the signal, have your men shoot first. When you hear the horn, charge." Galtry nodded, crawling back behind the hill and mounting his horse, splitting his men off from the main company. As their hoofbeats faded away, Iagan took his men and rode around to the other hill, carefully concealing his men from the Lannisters as they rode.

They arrived behind the hill, and Iagan knocked an arrow and released, a message tied to it confirming they were in position, and asking if Lieutenant Galtry was as well. Moment later, they received the reply. They were in position, now, they just had to wait.

_Four hours later_

It was getting late. The convoy had been stopped for nearly two hours as a wagon had broken, its wheel stuck in the mud. Waiting was always the worst part. His men got jittery, and it only became harder because none of them could move a muscle, or they would be exposed. Each man knew it, and each man remained perfectly still, only moving to sway with the breeze and stay concealed in the tall grass. The Lannister column was back on the move though. They were only about a hundred yards from the ambush site. The sentries for the column passed in between the hills.

_Fools_. Iagan thought. They were riding in perfect order, completely predictable, not straying from the road at all. If any Ranger scouted like that, they would be punished. The Lannisters had grown overconfident. They thought they were safe, nearly thirty miles behind the front lines. But they had infiltrated in, and this time, their hubris would be their undoing. Iagan smiled to himself. It was too easy. The center of the column passed into the ravine, obscuring themselves from sight. His men would be firing blind, but the mass of arrows alone would be enough to deal some serious damage on the first strike. He whistled, mimicking the song of a mockingbird. From across the road, he heard Galtry whistle back from his own position. He nodded to his men, they were ready.

He silently drew his Dothraki composite bow from its position, careful not to clank it against his sword as he had been taught. He drew three arrows from his quiver, knocking one, drawing the bow back to his ear, ready to fire. He waited for a moment.

Then, he released. The second his arrow was in the air, his men loosed their arrows too, a flight of death hurtling through the air completely unnoticed, never making a sound. In quick succession, Iagan loosed his other two arrows, both leaving his bow before his first had even struck. His men raced to their horses, listening, waiting.

He knew when the first volley hit. He could hear the Lannister men and horses scream. He watched the sky, waiting for Galtry's men to fire their arrows. The Ranger's had always taught them to never attack from to sides simultaneously. Let the enemy gain their composure for a moment, let them turn to face where they think the attack will come from, then, hit them again from behind, and this is exactly what they did. Iagan imagined the Lannister guards turning, beginning to regain their wits after hell had rained down on them, the third volley of arrows just making its impact and the survivors beginning to organize, just as Galtry's first flight landed amongst their ranks, striking them in the back and disorienting them again. He could smell the blood and shit on the air. His men had saddled up, and he grabbed his lance, preparing to lead his men over the crest of the hill, spurring his horse into a run over the crest, his men keeping in line with him.

When he reached the crest of the hill, he gave a whoop, lowering his lance and charging down into the Lannister baggage train. The arrows had taken their toll, but as expected, they had not finished the Lannisters off. Too the Lannisters, it appeared that these riders had come from nowhere, suddenly charging down into their ranks. Men lay scattered across the rode, turned into pincushions by the arrows. A horse thrashed on the ground, kicking and braying with three arrows in its side, the cart it was carrying toppled over on top of the driver, who was still. Time seemed to slow. A Lannister clutched at an arrow embedded in his back as another from Crispian, who carrying his lance on his back was still firing into the convoy at any targets of rank, tore into his throat. Crispian placed his bow over his shoulder, grabbing his lance and lowering it, just in time to spear another guard through the back. Another Ranger Outrider hurled his lance, catching a cart driver in the gut and sending him toppling over, his horse running in panic and dragged the cart across the road, sending two more Lannisters toppling over as it hit them. All hell had broken loose. Iagan screamed at the top of his lungs, driving his lance into a soldier who had managed to get his shield up and stand against the charge, driving the man down into the ground from the impact. The lance was jarred out of his hands, and he drew his sword, slashing another man across the throat as he jabbed at his horse with a spear. The man toppled over. Galtry's riders had just crested the hill, and charged down from the opposite side, crushing the Lannisters between the two charges.

In moments, the fight was over. Iagan surveyed the road. Some of the carts blocked the road, Lannister dead heaped over them, they must've tried to take cover behind them. One had flipped over into a ditch. Lannister soldiers lay strewn across the road, some dead by arrows and some by lances or swords. Equipment lay strewn across the road. Iagan survey his own losses. Two rangers were helping another, limping, to his horse, a cut across his thigh. Two ranger horses lay dead, killed by Lannister soldiers during the charge, and another had a sprained ankle. Other than a few minor scrapes and bruises though, his men were largely unharmed. Iagan breathed a sigh of relief. He ordered his men to search the baggage for anything useful, and burn the rest.

As they rifled through the equipment, they didn't find much of use. A few letters from Tywin Lannister, some armor and weapons, which they quickly confiscated, stripping the corpses of theirs as well, and some assorted food and supplies like bandages and poultices, which they heaped on their saddles to take back to camp. The war effort needed all the supplies it could get. Iagan smelled smoke on the wind. He smiled, his men were destroying the supply train, leaving no trace of their attack other than charred corpses and the frames of the wagons. He was proud of his men. They had adopted the Ranger dogma, and the lack of any evidence of their attack would only fuel the rumors and terror that surrounded them.

He turned to take a glance at his soldiers as Galtry handed him the letters to read over.

"Found these in the wagon, thought you might want to take a look at them. We did it captain." He said with a smile. Iagan looked around at the road. There was no fire. Nothing had been burned yet, his men were still piling the corpses to be burned. He could smell the smoke though. It was filling the air. He began to hear hoofbeats in the distance. It took him a moment to process before he realized what was going on.

"Horses! To your horses! Saddle up! NOW!" He shouted to his men. They paused for a moment, looking at him in confusion, before three of them were struck down with arrows. That was all it took, and as his Rangers grabbed their fallen comrades, pulling them into the saddle behind them. He ran to his own horse, spurring it into a gallop, leading his men over the crest of the hill, his men galloping behind him, fleeing the ambush.

He reached the crest of the hill and realized with horror, that the plains were aflame. Fire was spreading across the plains, burning through the dry grass and rushing towards them at a staggering pace. He wheeled his horse around, yanking back on the reigns with all his might as his horse reared to avoid the flames which were now licking at the grass. More arrows slammed into the company, knocking a few men from their saddles, but they couldn't stop to grab them, the flames were pursuing them. He turned, digging into his horses sides with his spurs to force him to run faster. They were losing ground. He heard horns to his right. To his dismay, he saw another contingent of riders, this one carrying the Clegane banner, racing towards them. Some of his men shouted in horror.

"Bows! Bows! On the right! Keep moving!" He shouted, pulling his own bow from behind him and grabbing an arrow from the quiver, loosing arrows into the mass of riders. There were at least two hundred, and he saw more of his men loose their own arrows into the formation, watching as horses and riders tumbled from their saddles. He steered his horse towards the woods with his feet, as he had learned to do, in the Dothraki riding style. His men raced alongside him, as more arrows tore through their ranks. The Clegane forces were gaining on them, as the heat from the flames scorched his back. Sweat dripped down from his forehead as he launched more arrows into the cavalry which was moving to intercept them. He took careful aim, sending more men tumbling to the ground. The cavalry kept coming though. Iagan's spurs dug into his horses sides, drawing blood. The smoke was becoming thick, obscuring his vision. His eyes began to tear up, and as the smoke became thicker he had more and more trouble seeing the rest of his men.

"Make for the treeline!" He shouted. "Rendevous at the cave!" He hollered, hoping his men could hear him over the roar of the fire and the screams of the wounded. The smoke was becoming so thick he could only see the men directly around him, all of them riding as hard as he was. Flames engulfed the field, and through the smoke he could see the Clegane banner. He blinked tears away from his eyes, taking careful aim, loosing his arrow at the man and tearing him from the saddle as the arrow caught him in the face, punching through his visor. Iagan fired more arrows into the smoke, where he could hear the Clegane soldiers shouting. He reached for another arrow from his quiver, but it was empty. He looked around to the men he could see, as flames singed his cloak. He could hear his horses panicked cries as the flames raced closer, rapidly closing the distance. His men were out of arrows too.

The smoke was unbearable now. Iagan felt himself getting light headed. As he felt himself starting to drift off, he was jolted awake as his horse jumped a creek. Cool water splashed at his face. His horse carried him into the forest, out of the fields. More Rangers raced alongside him, becoming more and more apparent as the smoke cleared, the fire unable to cross the creek. Iagan fell from his saddle, doing his best to grab his equipment. He knew the Clegane men would not be far behind and would follow them. Grabbing his sword and pack, Iagan slapped his horse on the rump, sending it racing off into the woods, but not before grabbing the Ranger clasp from its reigns, leaving no trace. His men did the same, and he ducked into the woods, racing away from the creek and deeper into the brush, brambles scratching his face and tearing at his singed, tattered, Ranger cloak. He hauled himself up into a tree, silently thanking the gods the Rangers had taught him to do so, and praying that his fear of heights would go away. He heard hoofbeats draw nearer, as Clegane riders raced through the underbrush, following the tracks of his horse.

_Thank the gods they never look up_, Iagan thought to himself. He climbed higher up into the tree, into the canopy of the forest. What he saw horrified him. The fire was finally dying down, having consumed the plains entirely. Embers and small patches of flames still dotted the landscape as smoke billowed up from the ground.

_Two hours later_

Two more groups of Clegane horsemen had passed him, laughing and joking at the butchery of his men. Night had fallen though, and Iagan climbed down from the tree, knowing there would be no more parties searching for them tonight. Smoke obscured the moon. He could feel the soot on his face and hands, blackening them. He whistled his mockingbird call. He got a few weak responses, as more Rangers revealed themselves from the underbrush, only about eighteen in all.

"We were ambushed sir. I'm not sure how many made it out." It was Crispian. He had survived, but an arrow shaft protruded from his calf, though the blood had long since stopped. His men looked awful. Their weapons and armor were coated in soot, and most of their cloaks were tattered and singed, or simply torn to pieces. He imagined he probably didn't look much better.

Their faces were all bleak with exhaustion. It was getting colder as well. He would've built a fire, but they were being hunted, and it would only give the mountain a trail to follow and a signal. As he examined what was left of his unit, he realized most of the men had no arrows or only a handful. Fewer had their kits, though most still carried their swords, as well as any axes or knives they normally carried as well. The attack had devastated them. The men looked to him for guidance.

"We'll spend the night here. I told the other's we'd meet them at the cave. They'll be there. We can't be the only ones who made it out." He told his men reassuringly. He wished he could convince himself though. In his mind, he silently berated himself for being so stupid.

_ How could you be so stupid? An under-manned convoy with only fifty men? They hadn't even set sentries. It had been too easy. You knew it was too easy, and you let your guard down. They wanted us to attack them! They had Gregor-fucking- Clegane waiting the whole didn't even post sentries to watch during the mop up. You got complacent. And now your men are dead because of you! Galtry is probably dead, and most of the unit, because of you. They trusted you! And you killed them! _He was seething with rage. Rage at himself, rage at the Lannisters, rage at Trysten, all of them. He wanted to scream, but he knew it might attract attention, and they were in no position to hold off another attack. Instead, he merely kicked his pack, furious at himself for being so careless.

"I'll take first watch. Get some rest boys, we move at first light." He said, and his men bedded down for the night, falling fast asleep, completely exhausted.

_Trysten_

He had ridden from the Stark encampment at first light with a retinue of thirty men, heading back towards Star's Reach. They had been riding for three days, and had passed through the bloody gate earlier that morning. With any luck, they would be back at Star's Reach early in the afternoon. It was about midday, and Trysten's stomach rumbled hungrily. He ignored it though, he would eat when he was finally home.

It had been nearly three years since Trysten had last been home, he had travelled far and wide, serving with the Second Sons and alongside his father in the war. He missed his family. He hadn't seen his sisters Maerisa or Tania since he had left home, nor his youngest brother Seamus, or his mother Susanna. Ser Daven had probably arrived earlier in the week, and his father buried already. He felt guilty. He knew he should've accompanied Ser Daven back to Star's Reach, to comfort his family, but the war had taken him elsewhere.

He could smell the ocean on the breeze, he knew he was getting close. He passed over a bridge, crossing the gap between two mountains, and following the winding trail to the peak. He knew he would be home soon. Behind this mountain was the valley where Star's Reach was nestled. Legend said that Rodrick Nors, a northman distantly related to Bran the Builder, and thus the Starks, had taken a group of Northern refugees south, fleeing the White Walkers in the days before the Wall had been built. They had fled south, eventually reaching the Vale. After days of hard marching and hiking through the inhospitable mountains, Rodrick begged the Old gods for a sign of where to settle, and that night, a star had fallen, crashing into the earth in front of the Weirwood tree that would eventually become the center of the Star's Reach Godswood, and Rodrick and his followers had settled there.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, and Trysten knew this forest was filled with game. He had caught his first fox here, and he knew that more wild game occupied these woods. The trees were ancient, old oaks, pines, and sycamores, each one contributing to the verdant canopy. Quicksilver trotted along, he knew this path by heart. As they crested the hill, Trysten sucked in a breath. Although he had lived here all his life, the beauty of Star's Reach never ceased to impress him. The woods covered the reverse slope of the mountain, streaking down towards the valley before they were gradually replaced with orchards, vineyards, and farms. Streams trickled through the valley from the mountains, cascading off the cliffs on the other side of the valley into small pools which flowed into the ocean. The ocean was a deep aquamarine hue, and he could see merchant ships and fishing vessels sailing around the bay, as the waves licked at the beach. The city spread out along the shore, ringed by white walls. Smoke rose from the blacksmith and artisan's district, and he could see the marbled domes of the Sept and the braziers around the temple of R'hllor. Although the Fadyns had always kept the old gods, the use of Star's Reach as a bustling trade port meant that all the major faiths were represented in the city. In the distance, he could see the walls of the StarFort, a seven sided fort which guarded the entrance to the bay. It had huge ballista mounted on its redoubts, capable of sinking any ships that tried to gain entry, and capable of raising massive chains to block the entrance to the bay. In times of danger, if the castle ever fell, the Fadyns could evacuate to the StarFort over a small bridge which connected them.

And carved into the side of the mountain on the other side of the valley was his home. The castle was imposing yet beautiful. It was made of white marble and limestone, overlooking the valley and the city. The walls were large, and towers ringed the perimeter. His father had always told him that in the event of an attack, five hundred defenders could hold the castle against ten thousand, and history had proven that true, as Star's Reach had never fallen, repulsing attacks from the Andals, the hill tribes, and the kings of the Vale until finally swearing fealty to the Targaeryns during Aegon's conquest of Westeros. Trysten knew a siege would be no more successful, the castle was almost self sufficient due to it's location. Situated on the mountaintop and carved into the cliffs, the wells in the castle could keep them supplied with water, and small apple orchards and access to the sea would keep them well stocked with food. He rode down into the valley, his banner streaming behind him. The smallfolk working the farms and orchards waved at him as he passed, and he waved back. He had forgotten how much he missed home.

Passing through the city gates, he made his way up the streets to the castle. He crossed the stone bridge to the Castle gates, and the guards waved him through, welcoming him home. Fadyn banners decorated the walls, waving in the breeze. He could hear the gulls calling to each other on the air. It was a beautiful day to return home. When he entered the central grounds, his mother and siblings were waiting for him. He dismounted, and he walked towards them. His youngest brother Seamus ran to him, leaping into his arms and hugging him. The last time he had seen him, he was a boy of only four, but now he had grown.

"You've gotten big! Its good to see you!" He said. Seamus smiled. Trysten tousled his hair, the same shade of red as his own.

"Ser Daven says he's going to start training me in the yard! He says he'll teach me to joust soon." He said excitedly.

"And I'm sure you'll be the finest knight in all of Westeros" he said with a laugh.

His sister Maerisa walked up to him.

"Welcome home brother. It's good to see you again." She said with a smile.

"Gods you've gotten beautiful. You must have the knights lined up to court you" He said, making her blush. He had heard his men call her "the mountain rose", and they did not underestimate her beauty. She had grown into a beautiful girl of fifteen.

His youngest sister Tania hugged him, greeting him excitedly, before his mother greeted him. She said nothing, simply hugging him.

"My son... I missed you so much. Welcome home."

"It's good to see you mother. I missed you too."

They spent the next hour catching up. His mother filled him in on what had happened in Star's Reach during his absence, Seamus piping in occasionally with his own stories. Maerisa sat silently, listening politely and filling in the gaps. He knew she would rather have been out riding. Tania excitedly detailed what was happening with Mickel and the fox kits. It had been a tradition for the Fadyns to keep pet foxes, their sigil, and Mickel was the first fox he had ever caught. Trysten wolfed down food, eating hungrily. He knew this was the best meal he would get before his trip to Volantis. He told his family what had happened in the war, about his own adventures, and Iagan's. After a bit longer, when it was nearing sunset, he excused himself.

He walked to the Godswood, nodding too the two Rangers guarding the entrance as they let him pass. The Weirwood towered over him, it's leaves forming a protective canopy over him as the last of the days sunlight passed through. The carved face watched him as he took his seat on the edge of the cliff. He thought back to the last time he had sat here, next to the falls from the stream that flowed through the castle and reflecting pool, and cascading down into the sea below. The last time he was here, had been leaving for the Second Sons, praying for luck and protection. Now, he was here to see his father one last time before he left. The Fadyns had buried their dead in the Godswood beneath the Weirwood for generations. Now as the sun set, Trysten looked down at the city and bay in front of him. The sun cast a golden light over everything, and it seemed that the bustling of the city had died down, quieting as windows became illuminated by firelight and the ships made for port.

_Father, if you're there, I need you now. Robb's asked me to go to Volantis. I need your protection. I need your guidance. I have to fill your shoes now, and I'm not sure I can do it. I still have so much I need to learn. Please. I love you. Mother loves you. We all love you. How can I possibly take your place? _He prayed, silently. He was interrupted by his mother.

"I thought I'd find you here." She said, sitting next to him.

"I miss him so much." He said sadly.

"We all do. But we have to be strong now. We shall adapt." She stated plainly, repeating the Fadyn motto. "Your father wanted you to have this." She picked up a sword, handing it to him. He pulled it from its sheath, examining it.

"Dawnbringer." It was the Fadyns ancestral sword. Forged from the metal of the fallen Star that gave the city its name, it had been in their family, passed from father to son for generations. It was a simple sword, not overly ornate. A bastard sword, hand-and-a- half. _We shall adapt._ He thought to himself smiling. Even their sword was versatile. The hilt was wrapped in toughened leather, the steel dark and cold to the touch. A fox head was carved in weirwood around the pommel, with ruby eyes. On the blade were carved runes and designs of the first men. Flowers, weirwood trees, foxes, deer, and fish, all carefully carved. It was a beautiful sword.

"He carried it with him every day. He'd want you to take it with you." She said, taking the sheath and strapping it to his side as she rose. "Your mission is a dangerous one, but have faith, you will come home safe. Fadyn invicta." And with that she left, her dress trailing behind her through the grass, leaving Trysten alone with his thoughts as the sun finally set, completely, the red-gold sky turning dark as stars illuminated the night.

_Goodbye father. Fadyn Invicta._ He stood, walking out of the weirwood, Dawnbringer strapped to his side. He had to prepare for his journey, he would leave tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 4

_Authors Note_: _Guys, thanks so much for the favorites and follows, it means a lot, it's good to know people are interested in it. That being said, I would really appreciate it if you guys gave me a few reviews, whether you like it or not. I'm open to criticism, and am curious what you guys think so far. In this chapter we get a few dynamics I thought were interesting between Canon characters and OCs, so please let me know what you think. Tywin never really gets much POV, nor does Lysa and I'm curious about how you guys think I portrayed them. I tried to convey Lysa's obsessiveness and insanity, let me know what you guys think! Please! Anyways, here's chapter four. Enjoy!_

_Tywin_

He had called Ser Gregor into his chambers, fuming. The man entered, practically smashing through the door, having to duck to avoid hitting his head on the entry.

"You summoned me?" He asked gruffly? He had never been one for formalities, but he served his purpose well.

"Ah Ser Gregor, exactly the man who I wanted to see. Tell me, how precisely did you manage to lose one hundred and fifty of my knights to only eighty Star's Reach Rangers?"

"M'lord I-" he started, before Tywin interrupted him, glaring at him.

"Of whom you've only found the bodies of forty. I practically handed you those Rangers to kill. I planned the trap, I arranged the decoys, I arranged the fire, and you spring the trap at the wrong time! There are still over six hundred Rangers roaming the river lands alone. I gave you nearly four hundred men, of whom you lose one hundred and fifty, and you can hardly manage to kill eighty when you take them by surprise!" He said angrily, glaring at Clegane, who met his gaze, fury burning in his eyes.

"You gave me green boys and men who can barely swing a sword!" He shouted with rage. Tywin simply blinked, unphased by Clegane's outburst.

"I gave you some of the finest knights in the Westerlands. Far superior to that band of theives, rapists, and murderers you call a unit of soldiers. You're hardly suited to chase down a band of archers, they're right, all you can do is kill and rape defenseless smallfolk, and I'm still dealing with the mess from the last time you decided to rape someone important" He said, goading Clegane into further rage.

"I killed Beric Dondarrion!" His face turned red with rage, and he seemed to grow, towering over Tywin. He slammed his fist down on the table, cracking the thick oak and causing the pieces on the map to jump. Tywin merely laughed.

"Apparently not. The man still runs around the Riverlands killing our men and leading that ragtag group of peasants he's calling the brotherhood without banners. And you couldn't even destroy them. Tell me Clegane, why do I trust you with anything important?" He asked menacingly, his face cold and calculating. Clegane glared at him, his hand clutching his greatsword so tightly that his knuckles had turned white and the hilt had started to bend.

"Get out of my sight Clegane, and don't return until you've done something important. Maybe I should simply get your dear brother to do it instead." Tywin said, scowling. Clegane turned on his heel abruptly, replacing his massive helmet and grabbing his shield. He stormed out of the chamber, slamming the door behind him so hard the planks cracked and the door spun off its hinges. Tywin waited a moment for Clegane to depart, before rising. He stood and the window, overlooking the courtyard. Even through the thick stone walls from well above, he could hear Clegane summoning his men, shouting at them. One man ran out from the stables, tying his britches, presumably after bedding some harlot, Tywin thought. Clegane, infuriated, sliced the man in two, riding off with his men and leaving the bloody corpse in the courtyard.

_Good, Tywin thought. Maybe he could catch those damned Rangers afterall. _Tywin thought.

Speaking of harlots, Tywin remembered his youngest son, Tyrion. He had sent him to King's Landing to serve as hand in his stead. The little demon was actually doing well. He still hadn't bedded the Stark girl though. They needed an child. It would have to be rectified soon.

_Perhaps I'll give Gregor a task he can handle_. Tywin thought, a cruel smile playing across his face.

"Girl" he said, and his wine servant stepped out from the shadows. She was young, only eleven or twelve, her brown hair cut short.

"Yes my lord" she said. Tywin smiled at that. He knew the girl was lying about being a stonemason's daughter. Peasant girls said m'lord, not my lord.

_Your words betray you little one. _He thought. If only he could figure out who she was though. Obviously no one of importance, all the highborn girls were safe, but someone of noble birth. Probably some bastard daughter of some river lord, raised in his household, otherwise she wouldn't be here.

"I have a letter for you." He handed her the letter, his wax seal keeping it shut. She moved to refill his wine goblet, taking the letter. He waved his hand dismissively.

"No, no wine. It dulls the senses. I need to think." She nodded in understanding.

"I'm sure you've heard of my son, the imp?" He asked expectantly. Her eyes betrayed her, becoming ever so slightly more focused, betraying her recognition before she replaced it with the expression she normally carried.

_Ah so you do know Tyrion. How very interesting. _ He thought to himself, a thousand ideas racing through his head, trying to determine her identity.

"Yes my lord, I've heard of Lord Tyrion."

"Good, then you know exactly what wine can do. The man drinks and whores himself to an early grave, gods willing, and can't accomplish a thing. King Robert was even worse. In his time as king, he attended a grand total of three council meetings. Three. Wine is dangerous girl, remember that." She said nothing, no emotion betraying her. "Tell me more of your childhood. You said your father was a stonemason?"

"Yes my lord. He was murdered."

"Murdered? How unfortunate. By whom?" He could see tears in her eyes, but more than anything he saw rage. He saw anger and hatred, it emanated from her tiny frame.

"By a liar. He died for his honor. Killed for what he believed in."

"Honor." Tywin scoffed. "Let me tell you something of honor girl. Honor gets you killed. Honor is like wine." Her eyebrows knotted, and she looked at him with confusion.

"Honor dulls the senses. It makes you foolish, you stop thinking. Honor, nobility, justice, the lot of it, it gets you killed girl. It engulfs you, and soon you lose track of how the world works. You focus too much on doing what is right, and you forget to do what is smart, what keeps you alive. They may sing songs of honor and glory and faith, but it is your wits that keep you alive, your desire to do anything to win. Do you know why I keep Gregor Clegane around?" She shook her head.

"The man is clearly mad. The hatred and cruelty in that man could destroy a city. And yet I use him. Why?"

"I don't know my lord."

"Think girl! The man has no honor. He will do anything asked of him. The people fear him, and fear is more powerful than love. Never forget that. Fear is what keeps the seven kingdoms together. Not honor, not justice. Fear. Every lord needs a dog to do what must be done without question, to remain feared." The girl was silent for a moment, considering what he said.

"Will that be all my lord?" She asked, clearly eager to leave, clutching his letter to her chest. He sighed.

"That will be all. Go. Take that letter to the Maester." He said, waving her off.

"But honor wins you respect, and no one fears a dead man." She said quietly, defiantly even, leaving the room. The girl was smart, that much was clear. Tywin wished he had a daughter like her. Cersei was power hungry and foolish, not nearly as clever as she imagined herself to be, to busy drinking and plotting for the sheer pleasure of it. He watched her walk across the rampart, the letter clutched in her hand.

Then there was that issue to be resolved. His last courier had placed the wrong letter in the supply train. He had written a fake letter, intended to turn the young wolf against his bannermen, to sow mistrust. He had planned to ambush the entire Ranger battalion in the south. To cut them off and destroy them, only letting a few escape, with a false letter, intended for Lords Umber and Karstark, incriminating them. But the wrong letter had been sent, and if it fell into the wrong hands...

_Then I will be incriminated and lose face, the plot foiled. _He thought with dissatisfaction.

_And Lords Bolton and Frey will have some serious trouble on their hands. _

_And the world will lose two traitors. _

_But two traitors he needed. _He reminded himself.

_No. That letter must be recovered. Its contents cannot be revealed. _

_Trysten_

It was early morning. He had ridden Quicksilver down to the docks, and was overseeing the last of the provisions being loaded onto the ship. Gulls flapped overhead, as he dismounted Quicksilver who was led aboard. Cinder, his fox, sat at his feet as he watched the men load the gear.

"Hello there boy, good to see you again." Cinder yipped at him. He was one of Mickel's kits, the oldest and largest. Trysten had raised him from when he was a kit, and followed him everywhere. His glossy auburn coat shone in the sunlight.

Daven walked over to him, wearing his full armor. "M'lord, the ship is loaded. We're ready to depart."

"Alright, thank you Daven. I'll be on in a moment." Trysten said, before turning to his family.

"Seamus, take care of everyone, listen to mother, I expect you to be able to unhorse me when I return home." He said, hugging his youngest brother. "Tania, focus on your lessons, they'll help you." His younger sister kissed him goodbye, a tear running down her cheek. "Maerisa," he paused, she looked at him expectantly "try to stay out of trouble until I return" he said with a grin, and she flashed him a mischievous smile before waving farewell. His mother approached him, hugging him and kissing him on his forehead.

"Return to us soon Trysten. Remember, your father would be proud of you. Remember our words, We Shall Adapt." She said softly, wiping a tear from her face before turning him towards the gangplank. He boarded the ship, cinder following close behind. The Silversides raised the gangplank and went about their duties.

Soon, they were out into the bay. Trysten stood at the stern, watching as his home grew more and more distant. The walls of Star's Reach shrunk away, the white marble glowing in the morning light. They passed over the chain running past the Starfort, and the garrison saluted the ship as they passed before returning to their mission. Soon, they passed the other smaller vessels in the bay, each one making way for the ship. Fishermen paused to watch as they hauled up their catch, and within half an hour, the cliffs were out of sight.

He stood, the sea air and spray flying past his face, droplets of water collecting on his armor. He held Dawnbringer, examining it once more, sharpening it. He thought back to the first time his father had taught him to wield a sword.

"_This is a duty, not a pleasure" _he had told him, swinging the sword.. They did not kill for pleasure or for joy. They killed out of necessity. _"It's no easy thing to kill a man, the fox hunts out of necessity, not bloodlust." _ His father had been a hard man, one of the finest soldiers in the Vale, a fierce fighter, but he never enjoyed it. He fought because he had to.

_So why do I fight?_ Trysten asked himself, answering the thought almost instantaneously

_Too protect my friends and family. _

Gulls cawed overhead, and occasionally his Seahawk tidecaller dove into the ocean, capturing a fish. The reefs around Star's Reach passed underneath him, the warm, tropical waters rushing underneath them, a world of life and warmth in an ocean of cold, preserved only by the currents.

His father's final words echoed in his memory once more. _"Serve the true queen"_. Trysten still had been unable to determine what his father's cryptic message had meant. He watched the waves, contemplating the message.

"It never gets any easier does it?" Trysten's thoughts were interrupted by Ser Daven, who approached him. "Sorry to startle you M'Lord", he quickly apologized.

"Daven, no its no trouble" he said pensively " I was just thinking about something. And please, you trained me, you can call me Trysten."

"It never does get any easier though, does it?"

"What do you mean?"

"First time I left home, I was coming to squire for your father. Next time, I was traveling with him to fight in Robert's War. Then I left home again to follow him in the Greyjoy uprising, and then again in this war. And now we've left again. It never does get any easier, does it?"

"No. No it doesn't" Trysten sighed. "Sometimes I wish we could just stay there, keep to ourselves, mind our own damned business. Just live happily..." he trailed off, thinking of his family. "But we can't. We have our duties, our role to play." He said.

"You still miss him, don't you?" Ser Daven clapped him on the shoulder, drawing him closer. Dawnbringer rattled against his armor, suddenly feeling very out of place there.

"Every day."

"We all do" Daven looked out over the water, losing himself in some memory. He paused, before looking back to Trysten.

"Did I ever tell you what your father once said to me of you?" He asked. Trysten shook his head. "Do you remember that day we went down to the city? You were maybe five or six. We had ridden into the city to visit the blacksmith, and on the way down, you stopped near a beggar. When I saw you do it I should've grabbed you and taken you away from him, the man was filthy, certainly not the sorts a noble lad should be dealing with. And do you know what you did?" Trysten shook his head. "You sat down, right next to him, sitting on the shit and filth and dirt in the gutter. And you talked to him. The little lord, sitting in the gutter, talking to a beggar like they were best friends." Daven chuckled at the memory. "And when we leave do you know what you did? You hugged the man. Hugged him like you'd hug your father or Iagan. I don't know who was more startled, the man or your father. And your father looked at me and he says, he says 'Daven, that boy will change the world someday. He'll grow to be a better man than you or I could ever be.' I know he'd be proud of you if he saw you today." He said, smiling. Trysten felt himself tearing up, and Daven wiped one away, just as an older brother would.

"Do you know what makes a good lord, boy? What separates the good Kings from the bad?" He sighed for a moment. "Compassion. Compassion lad. And when I see you today, I see the man you've grown into from that wee little lad I trained in the yard, I can't help but think your father was right."

Three days passed without incident. They were midway through their crossing to Volantis. Trysten had taken up standing at the bow, feeling the salt spray and the ocean air against his face. He watched with delight as a pod of dolphins swam alongside the ship, riding in its wake and the wind buffeted the sails. He had just walked belowdecks when he heard the bells on the ship ringing furiously.

"Pirates! Pirates!" The men called. He could hear feet rushing over the deck above him. He strapped Dawnbringer to his side, fastening his armor before rushing above decks. On the horizon, he could see a ship approaching fast. It was much larger than theirs, and he knew the twenty Silversides on board would be no match for the hundred pirates stationed on the ship looming in the distance. It's black sails jutted out from the water, painfully obvious against the azure water. Cinder yipped at his legs as he rushed belowdecks to find the captain, running into him on the way down.

"Captain" he said breathlessly, "Pirates!" The captain pushed past him, barking orders to the crew on the deck. The ballista's were primed.

"Trysten!" Daven ran up to him. "You best be getting belowdecks Lord, this one might get ugly."

"No, I need to stay here, you'll need every man you can." He said, a look of steely determination in his eye. The pirate ship loomed closer, and he could hear the horns sounding on its decks. To his right he heard a ballista unload, sending it's bolt slamming into the hull of the pirate vessel with a resounding crack. Daven looked at him, pursing his lips for a moment, before deciding to divert his efforts to something more productive than arguing with Trysten. He ran over to help a ballista crew load, shouting over his shoulder "fine, but at least stay back a bit". More ballista's unloaded, loosing their three foot long bolts into the ships hull, a bolt tearing through the pirate's sail. The ship was large, at least three times as long as theirs, and Trysten knew there would be more than enough pirates on board to overwhelm them. The ship was close enough now that he could see the pirates, their dyed beards and sabers glistening in the sunlight.

"Boarding hooks!" A man yelled, as grappling hooks were heaved across, digging into the railing on the ship. Trysten hacked at the ropes, trying to cut them free. Silversides rushed to help him, their axes chopping, burying into the wood and slicing through the wood. Arrows whizzed past his head, embedding in the deck, and the man next to him caught a crossbow bolt straight in the chest, punching through his mail and sending him crumpling to the ground, dead, crimson spreading across the deck and making it slippery and sticky. He could see pirates, grabbing onto the rigging of their ship, preparing to jump across. The ballista twanged again, a bolt slamming into the chest of one man, sending him toppling over the side into the sea. Then, the pirates boarded. A man swung across screaming, grabbing the rope with one hand and holding an evil looking saber. Trysten's cut caught him straight in the gut, Dawnbringer slicing easily through his light garments. An axe flew through the air, nearly missing Trysten and burying itself in the cabin wall. Another pirate came at him and as he cut him down, two more appeared in his place, advancing menacingly towards him. He could tell they were losing badly, as the surviving crew members retreated, backing towards the cabin as more pirates boarded the vessel. The silversides locked their shields over one another, forming a protective wall. The pirates charged, screaming. Men groaned and screamed and fell. Dawnbringer caught one man in the face, slicing into another shoulder. The pirates were rebuffed, stepping back on the deck to regroup. Seven pirates lay dead or dying on the deck in front of the shieldwall, but two silversides had fallen too. Only seven men remained, and they were surrounded by nearly forty pirates. The captain lay dead, an axe buried in his back. Daven stood to his right, clutching his side where a saber cut had sliced him. It would be a complete slaughter. Trysten looked at the men on either side of him, each one terrified but determined. Each would die for him without a second thought. But he couldn't let them die for him. Trysten lowered his shield, the men looking at him with surprise and confusion.

"We yield." He spat at the pirates.

_Lysa _

The fox had betrayed her again. The fool boy had left, marched for the the Starks. Did he not know he was hers? Did he not know, the fox bends the knee to the falcon? The fool.

She had generously sent him a letter, requesting that he return to the Vale and swear fealty to her. Renounce his father's treason, return to the Vale. But he refused. Didn't he know he was endangering them all? For a family that took the fox as their sigil, they were more bullheaded than clever. The boy's father had defied her, calling his banners and marching west. He had always been a stubborn man, holding true to the old gods. But now, they endangered them all with their defiance. She had kept the Vale out of the war. Cat had begged her to call her banners, but didn't she realize that doing so would threaten Robert? Dear, sweet Robert? Her beloved son? Her light and joy?

No. Why should she lose a son for one of Cat's? Cat always had been contemptuous of her. She thought herself so superior, marrying some stubborn, righteous northern lord. She led her poor Petyr along, teasing him with her looks. She always thought she was so beautiful. She stole Petyr from her, made him love her, and when her betrothed nearly killed him, she laughed and rejected him. Now her son was calling himself a king, and begging her to risk her own son's head to help him.

No. Petyr told her. Stay out of the war. Protect innocent Robert, he told her. He was always so kind and compassionate. Her beloved. She had done everything he asked of her, just as a good wife should. Now Petyr was hers.

But for now, she had to protect her baby. Family, duty, honor. The Tully words. Family came first, and she had to protect her baby. The Fox needed to be punished. It threatened them all. If the limb endangers the body, cut it off. She had to protect her baby.

Star's Reach had never fallen though. The men who protected it were battle hardened and tough. They fought the hill tribes, keeping the Vale safe. The lords of the Vale would not easily turn on the fox. But they had to. Didn't they understand Robert's life was at stake? Did they not understand? How dare they threaten her baby? The Fox would bring the Lion's wrath upon them all.

Petyr will think of something. Petyr always thinks of something. He is so good to us. So kind, so loving, so loyal, so compassionate. Petyr loves us. Petyr will save us.

_Iagan_

It had been three days since Clegane's ambush. When the morning came after the first night, they had been able to take full stock of the situation. They were in bad shape. They came upon one more group of survivors, bringing their number to twenty six in all. Galtry was dead, leaving only himself in command and Crispian. Among them, they had four days worth of rations, but were at least a weeks ride south-west from the nearest Northern lines, easily two weeks on foot if you stuck to the road. Two of his men, Sigfryd and Harrel, were wounded, and could hardly move. They had to be carried on stretchers, slowing them down. Furthermore, it quickly became abundantly clear that they could not use the roads. Clegane's men continued to ride up and down, patrolling for any wayward men, and could easily cut them down in their current condition. In the ashes of the fields, they scrounged for arrows, finding a paltry nine, hardly enough to defend themselves, but possibly enough to find food. They also found the bodies of many of their friends and comrades among the ashes though.

By his count, of his eighty men, nearly fifty had been burned in the flames, and were now dead. Many of them, he knew closely as friends. He had always tried to stay close with his men, taking the time to learn each of their names and character. Among the dead and missing were men like Corlan and Allard, hard, veteran fighters, obeying each command with conviction, Gerris, who always knew how to make the men laugh, and Brynden, a quiet man who by and large kept to himself, but could sneak up on any of them with ease. All of them gone. All men who had trusted him to protect them, who put their faith in him, and his own foolishness had killed them.

"Iagan, we have a small party coming up the road. Looks to be about four men. I can't tell who they serve yet though" Crispian said, tearing through the underbrush. Iagan motioned for his men to conceal themselves, and within seconds they disappeared, completely invisible in the woods.

He could see the men approaching them. One limped badly, using his blade as a cane. Another was carrying another man, draped over his shoulders. He trudged along, and from the cover of the woods Iagan could see his bloodstained tunic. Two more padded alongside, doing their best to protect the other three.

From the opposite end of the road, Iagan heard hoofbeats.

"Clegane men sir!" Dorren reported from the treetops. Iagan's heart stopped, as he waited for them to near. The men on the road apparently hadn't heard them, and he could hear them talking urgently. Sunlight caught the clasp on one man's cloak, and in an instant, he realized who they were. The Godswood clasp was a dead giveaway, here were more of his men. He wanted to call out to the men on the road to take cover, he could hear the hoofbeats getting closer, but he knew he couldn't, or else he'd risk giving them all away.

The Clegane horsemen drew nearer, and they spurred their horses faster upon seeing the five men. The men finally saw them, but it was too late. They tried to flee. The first to be cut down was the limping man, as a Clegane lance ran him through. The other four ran, the one carrying his wounded comrade doing his best to keep up. His other two comrades slowed, doing their best to protect him as he ran. A rider ran one down, burying an axe in his chest, and another of his men tried to slash upwards at a rider. It was clear he was weak though, the man easily deflected his blow, crushing his skull with a mace, as the man's body crumpled lifelessly to the ground. The final pair kept running, the man struggling to carry his wounded friend. The horsemen ran them down easily, almost making a game out of it. One through a spear, catching the man in the leg, and he put his wounded comrade down. The man had clearly been knocked unconscious by something, and did not stir when he was placed on the ground, nor when his friend, Iagan's comrade, drew his own blade to defend him, standing above him protectively. He didn't stir when his comrade was cut down either, his attempt to protect him futile, nor when the Clegane horsemen dismounted and slit his own throat. It was all over in less than a minute.

Iagan fought back the urge to charge onto the road and confront the horsemen. To avenge his men. Ivar, one of his men, famous for his calm demeanor, placed a hand on his arm, staying him from drawing his blade.

"Not today." He hissed, and for the first time ever, Iagan saw pure fury in his eyes. "We can't avenge them if we're dead."

"They butchered them! They were wounded! And they cut them down in cold blood!" He could hear the riders laughing as they rode off.

"Wait."

They buried the men that night. As their bodies were laid to rest in the earth, the prayers of the seven chanted over them by his men, while Iagan brooded alone up in the treetops, he gazed up at the stars. Somewhere up there, his father was looking down on him. Men had died for him. They were buried in unmarked graves, their bodies burned and maimed and desecrated by fire and steel, and they would never be remembered. A lone wolf howled in the distance. As he sat in the branches, the leaves rustling in his head, he tried to recall all of the men who had died for him.

He had killed them. It was his fault they were dead. They had looked to him, and he had killed them, and now, their sacrifice would never be remembered.

_No_ He thought. He resolved that he would remember the names of every man who died for him. He would write them down, and give them a proper memory. They would be heroes. He searched his pack for a piece of paper to write the names on. There was plenty of ash, he could use the ash and charcoal to write the names. His hand, finding a piece of paper, withdrew from the pack. As he moved to write the first of the names, he felt the waxy seal under his thumb.

_Tywin's letter. _He realized. In the chaos of the ambush, he had never read it. It was addressed to Walder Frey.

_What are you doing writing to Robb's bannerman? _He wondered, as he broke the seal, doing his best to make out the words by moonlight.


	6. Chapter 5

_Authors note: Thanks to Danceegirl92 and ChairmanJeong for the reviews! It's great to see people are enjoying the story and you've given some great advice. I really appreciate it, please continue to review guys! Here's chapter five, things are really being set in motion. Also please be aware there will be some stronger language in this chapter, but i'm not quite sure if it warrants changing the rating. If you think so please PM me. Please let me know what you think of some of the original characters and my portrayal of the canon characters, it really helps! Anyways I'm introducing Maerisa in this chapter, Enjoy!_

_Trysten_

The pirates chained them up, hauling them aboard their vessel and looting the ship's supplies and cargo. They dragged Quicksilver and the other horses aboard, and although they hadn't noticed, he saw Cinder sneak aboard. The pirates stripped the bodies of their armor and weapons, and confiscated the weapons and armor of his men before scuttling the ship as they sailed away.

The pirates had chained them up to the mast, leaving them on the deck, the hot sun beating down on their heads. Trysten was parched, the pirates refusing to give his men or himself anything to eat or drink, merely laughing at their request. Daven had tried to get the pirates to confess their intentions, but they ignored him and told him to shut up, and for his efforts he received a black eye and a split lip.

One of the pirates shouted to the crew to stand at attention, and the door to the cabin opened. A tall man stepped out. He wore fine silk clothing, freshly polished black boots, a large hat with a blue plume, and a red sash of cloth around his waist, where two cutlasses were tucked. He was an ugly man, his nose had clearly been broken, and his teeth were black and yellow as he grinned at his captives with a cruel look. He walked along the line of captives, up and down the row. Each step jingled, as his gold necklaces and earrings shook and shined in the sun. His beard was dyed a deep purple, curling around his face and looped in the Braavosi style. Trysten could only assume he was the captain for the deference the crew showed him.

The leader of the boarding party approached him. "The product of this morning's raid Cap'n." He said with a smirk.

"What was in her hold?" The captain asked, raising his eyebrow expectantly.

"Five horses, some meat and fruit, and a few spices. Nothing much of value. But we did take this lot" he said, gesturing to Trysten and the silverside captives. The captain nodded.

"We can get a good price for them in Mereen. They all seem healthy enough." He said, examining them, pacing. He paused at Trysten. He grabbed his face roughly. "Let me get a good look at you boy." He twisted Trysten's head, examining him. Apparently satisfied, he released him, turning back to his crew.

"This ones not bad lookin' eh? I'm sure we can fetch a good price for him, some slaver will want this one for a bed slave!" The captain laughed, the crew along with him. The captains gold bracelets and necklaces jingled as he laughed, a deep hearty laugh, but a cruel one. He turned back to Trysten, leaning in close.

"What do you say boy? Would you like that?" his face was inches away, his breath rank of fish, causing Trysten's eyes to water with the smell, and Trysten could see bits of food tangled in the beard. Trysten spat right in his eye. The crew's laughter died on their lips, and the captains face turned bright red as he wiped the spit from his face. He looked at Trysten for a moment, before slapping him viciously with the back of his hand. His rings stung Trysten's face, leaving red marks and a gash on his cheek which leaked blood. The captain glared at him for a moment, his black eyes meeting Trysten's defiant stare.

"Vindonio," he called "string this one up to the mast. No food, no water, nothing until we get to Mereen. This one needs to learn some respect."

The first mate, the man who led the boarding party, grabbed him roughly, shoving him towards the main mast. He tied Trysten's wrists and ankles, lashing him firmly to mast, grinding his face into the wood.

"That was unwise" Vindonio chuckled. "The cap'n don't take kindly to disrespect." Trysten said nothing.

He could hear boots moving across the deck. The captain was heading back to his cabin.

"Cap'n, what about the rest?" The man called Vindonio asked.

"Leave 'em in the sun. The slavers don't care what shape they get 'em, so longs as they get 'em." He could hear the captain pause for a moment, and Vindonio audibly inhaled.

"Mister Vindonio, where'd ya come across a blade such as that?" The captain asked, and Trysten could see the man shuffle nervously.

"I took it from one of the captives. The one thats strung up."

"Fine blade that is. Think i'll be having it" the pirate said, and the first mate hung his head.

"But cap'n I lead the boarders. I fought for it. I thought i'd keep it."

"Blast man do you want to be joining our pretty little friend over there? Hand it over!" Vindonio gave it to the captain. He could hear the sound of steel on leather as the sword was drawn from it's scabbard. The captain whistled.

"Fine blade lad. Where'd you come across a blade like this? Valyrian steel."

"It's mine. My father gave it to me." He said, and the captain laughed.

"Not anymore it isn't. You some sort of highborn?" The captain asked, not taking his eyes from Dawnbringer's blade.

"I'm Trysten Fadyn, Lord of Star's Reach".

"Oh we got us a little lord here boys! Some slaver will pay double for him! A little lord to warm his bed!" The crew laughed. "Well boy, let me tell ya somethin'. If ya can't protect what's yours, somebodies gonna' take it from ya." The captain laughed, smacking his back with the flat of the blade, before walking back to his cabin laughing, slamming the door shut.

A day had passed. The captain had him stripped of his undershirt, so his back was badly sunburned, red and raw. After the first day, the captain had approached him, asking him if he was ready to apologize. Trysten, defiantly, had responded telling him that "he could go fuck himself with his new sword" and that "he wouldn't apologize to any bastard pirate scum". Ser Daven had groaned at that. For his insolence, Trysten was rewarded with thirty lashes. The captain had whipped him until he was raw, his back torn to shreds. With each strike of the whip more skin was torn from his back. Trysten worked to fight off a scream, making no sound, and biting back the pain. The crew laughed and mocked him, and he could see the Silverside's averting their eyes. Eventually he resorted to biting the mast to keep quiet, leaving an indentation in the hard wood. The captain left for the day.

The next day, the captain left his cabin again. "Are ya ready to apologize now boy?" The blood had tried, and his back had begun to scab over. Trysten said nothing, ignoring the captain. More lashes. More pain, but Trysten made no sound as the flesh was torn from his back, the whip biting into his skin. The captain forced the entire crew to watch. This time though, the crew was silent. He could feel each of them wincing as the whip tore into him. A storm passed through that night. Wind whipped at the ship, and while the crew bunkered down and took the rest of the captives below decks, Trysten was kept tied to the mast. Waves buffeted him, and the salt water stung his back. Eventually, the storm passed, after continuing late into the night. Trysten slept.

He woke to the sound of the crew working. His ankles and wrists had chafed terribly, bloody messes from the tight ropes that held him to the mast. His britches were stiff and uncomfortable, the sun drying them, leaving the salt, keeping them coarse and stiff. On his back, he could feel the dried blood and sunburn, the gashes from the whip, made worse by the salt which had dried onto his back, caking his body.

At midday, the captain approached him again. "I'm gettin' real tired of whipping ya boy. What say you apologize, and I'll let you down. You must be real thirsty. Just apologize, and I'll cut ya down."

"Damn it Trysten apologize! Don't do this to yourself!" Daven shouted to him, and the rest of the Silversides echoed him. He could hear the pain in Daven's voice. The Captain pivoted, screaming at them to shut up. "Well boy, what do ya say?"

He paused for a moment, considering the offer. His lips were dry and cracked and his throat was parched. His stomach ached from hunger. The captain leaned in, closer. He was silent.

"Well, he's made his choice. Vindonio, the whip." His first mate hesitated for a moment. The crew was silent as he walked across the deck, grabbing the whip and handing it to the captain.

He would've screamed if he thought he could make any sound, but his throat was to parched to do even that. The pain was excruciating. He could feel blood splattering with each crack of the whip. The crew was absolutely silent, watching with horror and fascination as the boy of only seventeen took lash after lash, being whipped to a bloody pulp, in complete silence. Eventually, Trysten lost count of the lashes, and passed out from the pain, his limp body rocking with the movement of the ship.

He awoke late at night. It was pitch dark, the only light coming from the stars above him. He could hear the waves breaking against the bow, but the deck was empty. The Daven and his men slept.

He felt a hand clamp over his mouth, and he moved to cry out. "Shut up, I'm here to help. You've got to keep quiet though or the Cap'n will hear." Trysten stopped struggling, and the man slowly drew his hand away.

"Here, drink this." A man said, his voice gruff and muffled, holding a cup to his lips. It smelled foul, but Trysten gulped it down. It was his first drink in days. The cool liquid passed over his lips, and Trysten did his best to catch every last drop of the drink that was poured out of the cup to him.

"It should help with the fever."

"How long was I out?" He croaked, his voice cracked and dry. The man held another cup to his lips, and Trysten drank it quickly as the man spoke.

"Nearly a day. You've got spirit lad." The man said. "This might sting a bit" he warned "but it'll help your back". Trysten nodded. He was right. The man smeared some sort of ointment on his back, which stung fiercely. Trysten did his best not to cry out. Eventually though, the pain subsided, and he felt a cool feeling spread across his back.

"Thank you. Who are you?" He whispered, trying to get a look at his savior.

"The less you know, the better." The man replied. "You've got spirit kid, but sooner or later, everybody breaks. Don't make this harder on yourself than it has to be."

"Why are you doing this?"

"We like ya kid, you've got guts. Dumb as a rock, but you've got guts. Besides, you're not the only one that bastard has wronged." He left. Trysten did his best to get a look at him, but he entered the cabin. He only got a quick glimpse of the man's silhouette as he walked away, but by the starlight, it wasn't enough to determine who it was.

Days passed, and each day the captain would whip him again. Throught the whipping though, Trysten's back had improved from its prior state. The man made two more visits, each time helping him, giving him water and cleaning his back. The captain was enraged at Trysten's defiance, whipping him more and more, but Trysten stayed strong. Each night his back healed a bit from the prior days, and he knew soon it would be over. They had to be close to slaver's bay.

After nine days, Trysten could finally see the great Pyramid of Mereen. The harpy rose above the city, looking over it like a great demon, watching as her servants scuttled beneath her. He could hear the slavers and pirates yelling to one another, and soon, the ship docked at port.

_Iagan_

He had to get a message to Robb. Tywin's letter had confirmed his worst fears. He was planning a massacre. Walder Frey hadn't taken Robb's betrayal lightly, and with the help of Roose Bolton, they were going to massacre Robb and his bannermen at a wedding. It was a horrifying thought. He had trouble believing it. Not even Walder Frey could be so prideful that he would violate guest right and murder his guest in cold blood and risk the wrath of the old gods and the new, just because of a simple slight. But the evidence was staring Iagan in the face. He held it in his hands. Robb and his men were walking into a trap.

Robb needed to be warned, but how? His men were in serious trouble, vastly outnumbered and outmatched. Their training was good, but they were low on arrows and supplies and had wounded with them. Tywin had tightened his chokehold on them, flooding the surrounding area with men. Clegane patrols were everywhere, and each day they had to hide to avoid being discovered. Tywin must've known they had the letter, otherwise he wouldn't be so actively hunting them. Today had confirmed his worst suspicions.

They had been walking north, trying to reach the Northern lines or a sympathetic Riverlord who would let them get a raven through to Robb, when they had heard hoofbeats. Another Clegane patrol, this time nearly fifty men, all armored knights. To try to fight them would be suicide. He had crept closer, doing his best to listen in on their conversation. The horsemen had ridden by, pausing on the road to examine their surroundings.

"What are we searching for?" One man asked.

"The damned Rangers. Tywin's put a price on their heads. A hundred dragons per head."

"A hundred dragons?" The other man asked, a look of shock on his face. "What'd those poor bastards do to earn that?"

"Who cares? We just have to kill a few. Besides, if we don't Clegane will have our fuckin heads. He thinks they're trying to go north to reconnect. We've gotta stop them from getting back. They're as good as dead."

"Yeah" a man laughed, "Clegane must have four thousand men between here and the front".

So heading North was out of the picture. Even with their stealth, there was no way that they could make it past four thousand men without being caught, if the scouts were to be believed. They had to find another way. West was out, the last thing they needed was to go farther into hostile territory, and to go east meant cutting past Harrenhall and through the bloody gate back to Star's Reach. That was way to far off. The wedding was coming up, and they had to warn Robb in time, to go east would take to long.

Iagan called his men to him. Normally he would've simply held a council with his officers, but since Crispian was the only officer among them and there were only twenty six of them, there was no reason they shouldn't be heard. Night was falling as they gathered in the woods.

"I've told you all what was in that letter. If we don't warn him, the war will be lost." Iagan explained.

"So then we need to go North. We can get by them! They haven't found us yet" one man told him. Crispian interjected.

"There are almost four thousand Lannisters between here and there, and they're combing the countryside looking for us. There's no way we could sneak by. Besides, it would take to long."

"We could commandeer some horses, then ride. Maybe we could outrun them?" Another asked. This time Iagan responded.

"We have almost no arrows. I've yet to see a Lannister patrol with less that fifty men. We couldn't shoot them all down, and if one escapes Clegane will be on our heels in no time. They've got us outnumbered."

"What about South?" Ivar interjected. He had been sitting back, listening to the debate. "We can't head North, nor West, and East will take to long. It seems to me our only option then is South."

South. It was a dangerous idea. It would still be a long march, and they'd be heading deeper into the Lannister domain, past the Crownlands.

"House Tyrell holds the South. They're neutral" Dorren stated plainly.

"Aye but those flowery bastards want their bitch-daughter to marry Joffrey. They'd give the Lannisters us as a wedding present" one man warned.

"If we don't we're dead anyway! We should-" Another argued.

"They'll hang us all" Micah shouted, interrupting him. The debate turned into a full fledged argument, men shouting their opinions and trying to be heard.

"They haven't declared a side, or sent troops!"

"ENOUGH" Iagan shouted, silencing them all. "We'll be lucky if the Clegane bastards didn't hear that racket." He considered the idea. To go South was dangerous, but he had family in Highgarden. His uncle Scipio's wife and children resided in the reach. They hadn't been turned over to the Lannisters yet, and the Tyrells, although they had raised their bannermen, hadn't participated in any conflict yet. Perhaps he could sneak in and give his cousin a letter to send to Robb. It was dangerous though.

"To go South will be dangerous. But it's our only viable option. We need to warn Robb. We head south". There were some grumblings, but the men accepted his decision. He determined sentries, and they bedded down for the night.

The next day passed without incident, but as they set up camp on the second day, after marching south, they heard hoofbeats. It was another Clegane patrol. Iagan and Crispian ordered the men to stay hidden and move back, while they moved forward to scout.

"Captain, they're setting up camp" Crispian noted, watching as the men dismounted and began setting up tents. "They're bedding down for the night. That's just our bad luck. Only a few paces from us. We should keep moving." Iagan observed them. They were lazy, tethering their horses and eating and laughing and drinking as the last of the day's light faded away. They lit fires. From the trees Iagan could hear them complaining about how they had drawn the worst lot.

"How'd we get stuck with this? We could be in Harrenhall right now with a whore on our lap, a soft bed, and a horn of ale" one man grieved, before another of his companions told him to shut up.

"There ain't gonna be no damned rangers this far south!" another exclaimed.

"What does Clegane want us doing down here anyway? The bastards will head north."

Iagan thanked the gods he could approach unseen. The patrol didn't even expect to see them here. If they were lucky, they could pass through here unnoticed and then be free. Clegane would never think to send his men farther south.

"We could ambush them." Iagan jumped.

"Dammit Dorren don't do that! Nearly scared me to death."

"Sorry sir. Just a suggestion though. We could take the horses."

"Not a bad idea Dorren. Not a bad idea at all. Kill the sentries, kill the rest while they sleep and take the horses. They're too drunk and lazy to set up proper guards."

"They might have arrows too" Crispian observed. Iagan weighed his options for a moment.

"Get some rest boys. It's gonna be a long night."

It was nearly midnight. Most of the men were fast asleep, they had only posted a meager three sentries, who were so drunk Iagan wasn't sure they could even see straight. The last of the embers died down around their fires, and the horses were tethered to trees in the center of camp. Iagan had set his men up in a perimeter around the camp, waiting until it was completely dark to strike. At his signal, three men loosed arrows, killing the sentries, who dropped to the ground with a quiet thud. He gave the order to move in. His blade glinted in the moonlight as he padded through the grass, silently. His cloak concealed him. He was a shadow, a specter, unseen and silent. He passed the dead sentries, ordering his men to double check they were dispatched. Meanwhile, he padded past the dying firelight, which silhouetted him against the darkness and through the tents, making his way to the first one. He quietly lifted the flap, and entered the tent, carefully avoiding the equipment strewn on the ground. More of his men padded in behind him, also entering the other tents. In moments, the first tent cleared, his blade along with his mens' swiftly dispatching the sleeping soldiers. As he was exiting the tent, he heard a clatter of armor and a man swearing loudly, before shouting in alarm.

_Damn. This one couldn't be easy could it._ The camp had awoken, and men rushed frantically about. He and his men rushed into the next tent, cutting down the soldiers as they tried to find their weapons and armor in the dark. They moved from tent to tent, dispatching the soldiers as they struggled to mount a defense and orient themselves in the dark. As they cleared the last tent, Iagan heard a shout from his left.

"Iagan, one's getting away!" Crispian shouted.

"Take him down!" He yelled to his men as the soldier mounted his horse, spurring him into the woods. He drew his own bow, taking his only arrow. He took aim struggling to distinguish the rider from the woods. _Its the damned fire, _he thought, _ruining my night sight. _He loosed, and the arrow went hurtling towards the rider. Iagan heard a thud as the arrow smacked into a tree, and rustling and more thuds as his men tried to shoot the man down themselves, but he was already gone.

"Fuck!" Iagan exlaimed, kicking a helmet in frustration and sending it spinning off into the darkness. His men watched him, waiting for his orders.

"Take anything of value, arrows, bandages, weapons if you need them, then take a horse and mount up. We need to move, only a matter of time before we have the whole fucking Lannister army bearing down on us."

_Maerisa_

The raven had arrived early that morning. As the saying went "dark wings, dark words". It was from her Uncle Scipio, who was serving with Robb Stark. She had been out riding when it arrived. Iagan and his company had gone missing. The Rangers sent to find them had turned up nothing but burned corpses, unidentifiable. He was presumed dead.

She and Iagan had never been particularly close, even after their father had legitimized him, much to her mother's chagrin. But he was a good man. He had saved the Godswood, and would've made a great Ranger captain, maybe even a Lord Commander given time. But it was not to be. Her mother was distraught over Iagan's death. Although she had not birthed him, she had raised him as her son. She may not have loved him the same as her trueborn children, but she did love him, and another death was more than she could bear. She spent the day locked inside her chambers.

Seamus had taken it the hardest. He had always admired Iagan. He had gone off to the Godswood by himself. He was young, to young to lose his father and brother. She considered going after him, but decided he needed time alone.

As for her, she tried to preoccupy herself grooming her horse, Thunder. Thunder was a storm gray color, his coat thick and soft. Her father had given him to her when she was only eight. Now, she had just reached her sixteenth nameday, and she was a capable rider. Thunder preoccupied her. He had recently sired a new pony, which she named Mariner. Between caring for Thunder and raising Mariner, she had her hands full, and when she was upset, she would devote herself to them. But today, her heart wasn't in it. She had lost her father, and now her brother. Iagan would be sorely missed.

That was not the only news that had come with the Raven. Scipio requested Maerisa to come to the camp. She was nearly sixteen, and a favorable match would need to be made. Although nothing would be done yet, it was time to start considering her options for a husband.

Many men would be lucky to have her, she was told. She was undeniably beautiful, and the Rangers and Silversides affectionately referred to her as their "Mountain Rose". She had long blonde curls, her eyes a stormy grey, and an attractive face. She would be the thrill of the young men at court, and it was time to start considering suitors. In her brother's absence, her Uncle had taken it upon himself to start the search, and a wedding would be a perfect time to begin. He requested she ride north to meet them, and attend the wedding of Edmure Tully and Rosalin Frey at the twins.

She would have to leave home. Unlike her cousins in Highgarden, Scipio's children, she had never grown up with any other noble girls or boys besides her siblings. Star's Reach's isolation made it ideal for defense, but a true curse for friends. She had been visited by the Waynwoods, Redforts, and Hunters, but rarely and she never had much time for friends.

She was also somewhat odd among those who lived in the Vale for her association with the hill tribes. As a little girl, she had been out riding when she had been kidnapped by a tribesmen and taken to their camp. However, she had quickly won them over with her upbeat and friendly personality, and they regarded her as a friend ever since, after releasing her. She still talked to the hill tribes from time to time, and as of late they had ceased their raids on Star's Reach, coming to an uneasy truce.

It was for that reason that when she went out riding today to clear her head, she did so without a guard. She had nothing to fear. She and Thunder road far from the castle, up into the hills overlooking the valley. Seamus and Trysten had the Godswood, her mother had her chambers, Tania had the orchard, and she had the cliff. She would ride out here whenever she needed to think.

"What are we going to do?" She asked Thunder, an arrow from her bow slamming into the tree she targeted, knocking down the apple. "I can't get married yet. What if I don't love him?" Thunder snorted, she could've sworn he was laughing at her. She tossed the apple at him, it bouncing off his side. He stared at her for a moment before crunching into it.

"I'm serious! I don't want to marry some sour northern lord! I'm happy here!" Thunder looked up from his apple for a moment, seeming to raise his eyebrow. "Ok, well I'm happier here! What if he's just some boring old man, or a cruel boy?" Thunder shook his head.

"Oh and who would you suggest? I don't know the politics of these lords, or of their families and alliances." Thunder said nothing. Only the silence of the woods surrounded them. She could hear birds flitting through the trees and the sound of a small stream trickling off the cliff into the valley.

"Fine." She pouted. "But I don't have to like it!" Thunder brayed, stomping his hooves.


	7. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: Hey guys, sorry for the delay in the update, I hit a bit of a wall for a few days, but I'm glad to see everyone is still enjoying it. In thi_s _chapter we'll be meeting a few more characters, including some canon ones so as always, please review and let me know what you think, especially on my portrayal of the characters. It would be a huge help to let me know what you think of the OC characters as well, so I know what needs to be improved on. Anyways, enjoy!_

_Iagan_

It had been three days of hard riding, but they were finally nearing the Mander. They couldn't have been more than half a day away, and once they crossed the river they were home free, or at least, at the Tyrell's mercy instead of the Lannisters. They were running short of time. The wedding was only days away, and if he didn't warn Robb in time, it would all be for nought. He breathed a sigh of relief though. He had managed to bring his men out of the trap that had been sent for them, and although they lost many good men, some would make it out.

His horse bucked underneath him, apparently startled by something. "Captain! Riders!" Crispian shouted.

"Lannister bastards coming over the hill!" Another man yelled.

_Shit. _He thought. _It was too good. It can never be easy, can it? I just had to relax. _He wondered to the gods. He spurred his horse into a gallop, his men riding hard behind them to outpace the Lannister soldiers. He stole a glance over his shoulder. There were nearly one hundred Lannister knights bearing down on them, riding over the crest of the hill. There was no way they could handle all of them. The Mander was getting closer though. He could see it's glistening waters drifting lazily among the reeds and rushes. The Lannisters were getting closer now. Their hoofbeats rose to become a thunderous roar in his ears, and the dust his men's horses kicked up was blinding. He unslung his bow from his back, firing his last two arrows into the Lannister host, downing two riders and tripping a few others up, but it was hardly enough to make a dent. The Lannister riders were closing. After three hard days of riding, their own horses were exhausted, and the Lannister's must have been fresh.

There was no way they could outrun them. They were closing too fast. Their only hope was that they could fight them off. Iagan rapidly scanned the area for anywhere they could defend, but there was nothing. No grove of trees to conceal themselves in, no bridge to cross, just a tiny island in the Mander, no more than a few horses long or wide. The water was shallow, their horses could cross it easily, but it would have to serve.

"To the bank!" He called, slinging his bow over his shoulder and drawing his longsword. His feet dug into his horse's side, banking towards the island with all possible speed. "Take up defensive positions! We have to hold them! We have to hold them! Form a defensive line!" He waved his men around behind him as they reached the island, water splashing up at his face as hooves splashed through the stream. He could hear the scrape of steel on leather as his men drew their own weapons. A few more arrows were loosed, hurtling into the Clegane horsemen. He could only hope they found their mark. The horsemen were no more than a hundred paces away and closing fast. He could hear their war whoops and battle cries as they charged in, axes and swords slashing through the air. A few were unhorsed as their horses stumbled and tripped on the slick stones in the river, blocking the stream, and forcing the rest to dismount or risk tripping over the struggling horses. Both sides stared at one another for a moment, before the Clegane men at arms rushed in, screaming like madmen.

At first, the fight went their way. They were far better trained than these thieves, rapers, and murderers, and were more than a match for them in a fair fight. A man ran towards Iagan, his battleaxe glinting in the midday light. He slashed wildly, and Iagan ducked under the blow, gutting him with his longsword. Another man sliced at him with his sword, but Iagan easily parried the blow, and counterattacked, sending the man sprawling backwards into his comrades, where Iagan quickly finished him off, before turning on his comrades.

But this was not a fair fight. Soon, the fight began to turn against them. Iagan stabbed, catching a man in the throat above his armor, and the man fell, clutching at the wound and gurgling blood. But a spear caught in the back of the leg, slicing across the back of his thigh, the wound stinging. He quickly dispatched the offender, and staggered back to the safety of his own men, fighting desperately to hold the Clegane men back. But it was to no avail. One by one his men were separated and picked off, and for every man they killed three more took his place, as his line was driven back. He saw Dorren cut down three knights, dispatching them all with quick, lethal blows to the throat with his twin daggers, before an axe split his back, and he was dispatched with a spear thrust. He saw another man slip on the bloodstained sand, and as he pleaded for mercy, was silenced by a mace to the head. From the Clegane lines, he saw a huge man striding forward, the Clegane dogs painted on his armor. He held a massive broadsword so large many men couldn't even lift it, let alone wield it, in one hand, and a gargantuan oak shield in the other, emblazoned with the Clegane colors. He strode forward, as blows glanced off his armor. His sword cut through his men easily. One man was nearly split in two as the sword carved into him. Iagan rushed back into the fray, his sword singing, slick with blood. His hamstring stung, blood sticking to his britches and running down his leg. He fought his way towards the massive man, Gregor Clegane, intending to fight him, cutting down seven Lannister soldiers before reaching him. Clegane buried his sword deep in another man's belly, twisting and wrenching it out with a grotesque sucking noise, and the man collapsed to the ground. Iagan struck, his sword glancing off the massive man's armor, barely leaving a dent. The man turned towards him. He brought his broadsword down, and Iagan barely managed to stop the blow from cleaving him in two, as he deflected the slash to the side off his own sword, struggling to stay on his feet as the force of the blow forced him to his knees. He was so focused on the sword, he didn't see the massive shield coming around.

It hit him in the side of the face. His vision blurred as he was knocked to the ground. He could feel the damp sand on his cheek, and he nearly blacked out. But he forced himself to retain consciousness. He rolled over, reaching desperately for his sword to block the oncoming blow, a hack that would have split him in two, but his hand found nothing. The blade whistled toward him, crimson blood already coating the steel. He could feel the drops of blood splatter on his face. He waited for the end to come.

But it didn't. The blade stopped mere inches from his body. He struggled to focus on what happened. Another blade had blocked the cut. Crispian. His men forced Gregor back, three of them fighting him at once, as two more dragged him back behind their makeshift battle line by the straps of his armor.. There weren't more than ten men left.

"Captain! Captain! IAGAN!" Crispian shouted at him, struggling to be heard over the din of battle. Steel rang against steel, intermingled with the cries of the wounded and war cries of the fighting. The metallic smell of armor and steel intermingled with the sickly sweet smell of death and smell of blood. "You need to get up! You need to escape!" His vision blurred as he struggled to make sense of Crispian's words. Crispian's face blurred, making him dizzy. He tried to stand, but couldn't. "We'll hold them off! Go!" He couldn't move. His arms and legs had seemed to stop functioning. His head lilted off to the side, and he saw Clegane cut down two more of his men, two men who had fought him to protect him, but he was powerless to stop him.

His hearing faded. He could see Crispian shouting, mouthing words at him. He saw him call to another man, as they lifted him, throwing him onto the saddle of a horse. Crispian shouted at him. He tried to focus.

"It's been an honor...serving...Captain" Crispian said, slapping the horse on the rear and nodding too him, a sad look in his eye. The horse sprung into a gallop, fleeing the fighting. His vision began to fade again, he could feel blood running down his leg, soaking his britches. The horse ran, and he slumped across its neck. He struggled to wrench the horse back to the fighting. He had to protect his men, had to save his men... His vision was fading, the world growing dark around him. He felt the jarring sensation of hooves running across stone and felt cool water on his face. The horse turned, running up the road and hill, and through the woods, and he got a last glimpse of the fighting. He saw his men butchered. He saw Crispian dive into the fray one more time, cutting down another two men, before a spear caught him in the back and he fell, Clegane's massive sword thrust through his body. He saw him fall. He saw the stream run red with blood. Then, his vision faded, and he lost consciousness.

_Trysten_

They had arrived at Mereen three days ago. They had been dragged off the ship, his back cracked and bleeding from the whipping, but healing nonetheless. He, Ser Daven, and the rest of his men were being kept in a sort of pen, chained to the wall, out in the sun, while the pirates tried to entice buyers. The great pyramid loomed over them, foreboding and menacing, and worse, they couldn't seem to escape the gaze of that damned harpy. She sat, looking down on them with pitiless eyes. The putrid stink of the slave pens rose from the docks.

So far, the captain had failed to attract any willing buyers. The first man he had brought had come to examine them like horses, checking their teeth and health. When he got to Trysten, he had spit on his shoes, and the master nearly slit his throat before the captain stopped him, apologizing for his insolence and warning him he would have to pay for the slave if he killed him.

They had sat in the hot sun for two more days, the acrid desert air scorching their lungs and the dust and sand blistering their faces. On the third day however, they were ushered from their pens. Slave soldiers dragged them from their sitting positions, prodding them forward with spear butts and the occasional blow. They were brought before the captain and the first mate, as well as a man dressed in silks.

_That would be our new Master_. Trysten thought bitterly. He examined the man, assessing him, looking for any possible way to escape or turn the situation to his advantage. He was tall for a slaver, standing nearly a head taller than the captain. His rich silks and finery cascaded around him in a dazzling array of golds, purples, blues, and reds. He was wealthy. His hands showed no callouses, and two slaves stood behind him, one holding a parasol to keep the sun off him, another fanning him._ Lazy too_. He thought. _A pampered bastard. Should be easy enough to escape._ The man was not old, but not young either, probably about his father's age.

_Father._ Trysten thought. _What would he think if he saw me now? A slave._ The master said a few words to the captain in a language Trysten didn't understand, but he recognized it as a dialect of Low-Valyrian or Ghiscari. The captain responded in kind, coins were exchanged, and the deal was done. In moments, the first mate approached each of them, unshackling them, and attaching collars to each of them. He worked his way down the line, eventually reaching him.

He unshackled his wrists. Trysten rubbed them, they were raw and sore from the chains, and he had a very obvious tan line, the skin underneath the shackles, though red and raw, was notably lighter than the skin that had been exposed to the harsh elements on the voyage. The first mate Vindonio turned the key in his ankle bracers, and he could finally move his legs. He considered running a moment, before banishing the thought from his mind. He couldn't leave his men behind to their fate. _Besides_, he thought_ I wouldn't make it twenty paces before they caught me, assuming they didn't simply shoot me down first._ He dismissed the thought. No, he would have to get in this new master's good graces if he was ever to escape. The first mate attached a collar around his neck. Trysten winced as the cold iron touched his tender back. The first mate leaned closer, clasping the collar on and securing it firmly in the back.

"You've got spirit kid, but sooner or later, everybody breaks. Don't make this harder on yourself than it has to be." Vindonio whispered to him. Trysten gave him a small nod, acknowledging him.

"Thank you. For 're a good man." He whispered under his breath, trying not to draw attention to himself or the first mate. He tried to keep his face level, to show no emotion. This man, who was currently selling him into a life of slavery, had been his savior, perhaps even saved his life. "I shall pay you back one day" Trysten told him.

Before he knew it, the ship, the pirates, the captain, and Vidonio, were gone. He and the other slaves were forced into a small caged cart, which was hauled up, past the docks and behind the city walls. The gates parted before them, as they passed under the arches. The city's stink was overpowering, but it was somehow beautiful. The sandstone buildings crowded the street on either side, and people dressed in fine, exotic clothing walked up and down the alleyways and streets, going about their business. He saw Masters, slaves in tow, pampering them, walking to and from their villas, artisans and craftsmen calling out their wares and offering them to anyone within earshot, children running across the sandstone streets, kicking up dust and darting in between the legs of the oxen and horses, weaving through the crowd. He smiled as he remembered his own home.

"We'll get home one day lord" Daven said to him confidently.

"I hope you're right Daven, I sincerely do." He replied. Another man spoke up.

"I know you'll think of something Lord. You got us out alive from that mess with the pirates."

"I'm not your lord anymore," he answered, _and perhaps dying free is worth more than a life enslaved,_ he thought darkly, "and now we're all just slaves together. No need for the formalities. What's your name man?" He felt guilty. He had doomed these men to lives of slavery and hard labor, and he hardly knew any of them.

"Alexander, first marine of the fourth naval brigade, Silversides" he told him.

"Alexander" Trysten repeated, committing the name to memory. "Well, if we're going to be working together we might as well get to know each other. Your name sailor?" He asked, looking at another Silverside.

"Andray, Marine, 4th naval Brigade, Silversides" the man told him. They spent the rest of the wagon ride quietly swapping names and becoming familiar. Trysten rapidly became acquainted with the other men he was captured with. There were nine of them, including Daven and himself. They each introduced themselves; Alexander, the highest ranking man among the Silversides with them, Andray, a young man no older than himself from Pinnella Pass, his older brother Brandon, Brom, a quiet man, the oldest in the unit at nearly forty name days, Domeric, an orphan from Star's reach who had just joined the Silversides, Alexander's squire Duncan, and Raymond, a loud, boisterous man who claimed he beat Balon Greyjoy in the finger dance, much to all their enjoyment.

The wagon stopped near midday. One of the slave soldiers unlocked the cart door, and they were brought out to the central grounds of what appeared to be their new Master's Villa. Trysten squinted at the bright light. They stood on the cobbled common ground, the large, marbled building looming up in front of them. In the center of the grounds stood a whipping post, and behind it a white marble fountain which trickled water down. Trysten became suddenly aware of how horribly thirsty he was.

"Best you avoid that one" Daven whispered to him, gesturing to the whipping post, earning him a cuff on the ear from one of the guards. Trysten could hear the clatter of hoofbeats on stone, and the Master rode in, pausing before them on his horse, and dismounting as two slaves took the mare away. He could hardly believe his eyes. The master was riding his own horse, Quicksilver. At his hip hung Dawnbringer. Trysten's eyes blazed with fury, but Alexander grabbed his wrist, squeezing tightly. "Don't do anything foolish Trysten" he told him quietly. Trysten did his best to relax, his fury subsiding as the man approached them. Trysten completely ignored him, his eyes tracking the slaves who led Quicksilver out of the courtyard. _It can't hurt to know where they keep the horses_, _especially Quicksilver, _he thought.

"I am Abdus Salam Afzal," the man said, seeming to enjoy the way his own name sounded, relishing his own majesty. Trysten scoffed under his breath. "I'm sure you have heard of me. It was I who vanquished the Dothraki horde who attacked Mereen, my wealth and power are beyond compare." He paused again, letting his words sink in. Clearly he was used to people gawking and groveling before him. "You shall find me a generous Master. I shall provide each of you with a bed, food, and proper attire, and in return you shall cater to me. Please me, and you shall be rewarded, but disobey me..." He trailed off menacingly, his right hand grasping Dawnbringer's hilt and his left trailing towards the gilded Arakh he wore at his hip. He looked towards the whipping post. The message was clear. Obey or be punished.

"You" he said, approaching Trysten. "Captain Izzat has told me of you. He said you have spirit. Perhaps a new fighter for the pits?" Trysten said nothing.

"I would feed you well, you would have women, food, drink, wealth, anything you desire" he told him, waiting for a response. Trysten remained silent.

"Fool." Afzal muttered under his breath. "So be it. You shall serve me as a scribe and cupbearer."

Trysten was taken away from his men. As he was led through the Villa, he marveled at the beauty of the slaver's home. It had high, arching ceilings, adorned with gilded tiles depicting beautiful, far off places. The smell of lemons drifted through the halls, and sunlight illuminated the long corridors, passing between the columns. The guards hauled him forward, ripping off his shoddy garments. Trysten gasped in agony as his old, rough cotton garments were torn off, bringing with them the dried blood and scabs that had clung to them and had become tangled in the cloth. He tried not to faint as a wave a pain washed over him, and he could feel blood begin to well up in the gashes. The poultice had helped heal the worst of his injuries, but he knew he was a long way from a full recovery.

"Put these on" one guard said to him, tossing him a pile of clothing. It was soft and cool to the touch. Silk. Apparently the ever so generous Master Afzal wanted his slaves to look just as extravagant as he was.

"And you best bandage that back. The Master won't want you bleeding through your new clothes." The guard said. "This here's your bed. You will rise every morning at first light, and sleep when the Master wills it." Trysten examined his new quarters. They were sparse to say the least, and as he examined the straw cot he couldn't help but feel nostalgic for his chamber in Star's Reach. He could see the flees hopping on the rough linen sheet, and rat droppings littered the floor of the dimly lit room, the only warmth coming from torches on the walls which only partially heated the cold stale air.

"You two are slaves too?" He asked them. He could see the collar on their necks, but was surprised they dared to give their slaves weapons.

"I've served him for nearly a decade" the older guard said.

"And I only a year" the other added.

"Yet he gave you two weapons." Trysten noted. The older one turned to him "that'll be all Zetes, go find the Master, I'm sure he has need of us." The man waited for his partner to leave. "You're new here. I saw those scars on your back. Believe me, compared to Afzal, those pirates were merciful. To defy him means death. To even insinuate revolt is dangerous. The master has spies everywhere, feeding him details."

"How would you know that?" Trysten asked. He wanted to know every detail about this Master. If he was ever to escape, he needed to have all the facts, and he needed to know who he could trust.

"I learned it firsthand. He's cruel, brutal. Don't provoke his wrath." The man said, removing his helmet. Trysten did his best to stifle a gasp. Hidden behind the face mask of the helmet, a huge, jagged scar ran across the man's face. "Bastard gave me this when I asked for a bit more bread, to give to my daughter." The man said angrily. "Told me I was lucky he gave me anything for her, since he hadn't given me permission to 'breed'". The guard told him bitterly.

"You have a daughter?"

"Had. He sold her two years ago. She died in the salt mines." A dark scowl grew across the man's face.

"I'm sorry. And your wife?"

"He killed her after the last slave revolt." Trysten was quiet.

"You must've earned the wrath of some god to end up here in this hellhole." The man told him sadly. "And once you're here, you never leave. You'll be lucky to survive the month. Where're you from lad?"

"Westeros. I'm Braavosi myself. You westerosi are soft. You'll be dead within a week if you fools don't learn to survive here. This place has it's own rules."

"Then teach me how. I'll be damned if that bastard kills me or any of my men."

"Your men?" The man asked.

"Forgive me, I should introduce myself. Trysten Fadyn, Lord of Star's Reach." He said, holding out his hand. The man took it, firmly shaking his hand.

"Fiorenzo. And if you want to protect your men, keep quiet. Do as the Master bids. He doesn't take kindly to threats." His beard twitched with anger.

"So I've gathered."

"Tell you what," Fiorenzo told him, his armor glinting in the light of the torches that illuminated the slaves quarters "you give me half your meals, and i'll make sure no harm comes to you or that new bunch he just bought. The other guards respect me, give me half your rations and I might convince them to go easy on them with the beatings."

Trysten considered it for a moment. Could he trust this man? The Braavosi were never known for their honor, they put pride before all else. But he had to secure his men's safety. Even if it put him in peril, he couldn't risk it. Besides, it might help to have a friend among the guards.

"Deal."

"Congrats. You've learned your first lesson. Stay in the favor of those who could kill you."

_Maerisa_

She had arrived at the Stark camp earlier that morning. With her was a small contingent of Rangers who escorted her, and they were taken through the camp to the command tent. The soldiers guarding the tent blocked her path, before a voice from inside told them to let her pass, and she was allowed inside.

She entered the tent, her eyes adjusting from the bright sunlight to the darkness within the tent, illuminated by firelight.

"Maerisa! It's so good to see you!" It was her uncle Scipio. He had only visited Star's Reach four or five times in her life, but he was always a kind man and he doted on his oldest niece.

"Uncle Scipio!" She said happily, running towards him. He hugged her, lifting her up in his arms and spinning her around just like he used to when she was a little girl. She giggled happily as he put her down.

"Gods you've grown. Step back and let me get a good look at you". She stepped back, giving him a chance to look at her. The last time he had seen her was on her tenth name day, and she had changed immensely since then. Scipio hadn't changed at all from the last time she had seen him. His oily black hair was slicked back, and his face was rough and covered in stubble. He war simple, practical armor, dented and worn from battle. She remembered sitting on his lap in the great hall of Star's Reach as he told her stories about wear each dent had come from.

"You're beautiful Maerisa, just like your mother. How does she fare?" He told her, sincerely. Uncle Scipio may have been a gruff, tough man, but he loved his family.

"She's doing well uncle. She's been distraught over father, and it'll take time to heal, but she'll move on eventually." Scipio nodded understandably.

"Marius' passing has been hard on all of us. I know your brother took it harder than most. Speaking of him, have you heard any word from him in Volantis?"

"Nothing uncle, at least, not since I'd left." She saw Scipio's eyes flicker for a moment with concern "I'm sure he's fine though, the Margate is one of the finest ships in the fleet, and she's manned by nearly seventy Silversides."

"You're right. I'm sure he's fine, and the little ones?" He questioned.

"Not so little anymore uncle" she laughed, and he smiled. "Seamus and Tania are both growing fast. Seamus has decided he'll become the finest knight the Vale has ever seen".

"And I'm sure one day he will" Scipio told her confidently.

"And what of your family uncle?" She asked him.

"They are well. Hannah and the children are staying in Highgarden. They've become close with the Tyrells, they are cousins after all." He said, staring at the map displayed in the center of the room. She could see the different pieces laid out across the table, denoting the positions of armies and fleets.

"Uncle?" She asked uncertainly, running her hands through her hair nervously.

"Yes my lady?"

"How are we faring in this war? Truly?" He paused for a moment, considering what to say. When he had visited, he had always tried to conceal the horrors of war from her and her siblings. But growing up in Star's Reach, it was inevitable they learned. The city was famed for the skill of it's soldiers, and the best source of skill was experience. She had grown up surrounded by soldiers, she was well familiar with their courtesies and mannerisms, gruff and brusque as they might be.

"That's no worry for a lady-" he began to tell her, before she cut him off.

"Truly uncle Scipio. I can handle it. How do we fare?" He sighed, frustrated.

"It's been a struggle, and continue to be so. One misstep," he paused, considering the map "and all will be lost. King Robb has made me one of his chief advisors at your brother's behest, and its a trying duty. The boy is cunning, that much is certain, but he is young and can be bullheaded and foolish at times. Our host is weakened from fighting. The men are tired and need to rest. Tywin sits with his army at Harrenhall, and from there he sends out Clegane to pillage, rape, and burn the riverlands, and we are powerless to stop him."

"Why not hunt him down? Use the rangers?" She asked.

"We tried that. Iagan had been sent south with a company of outriders to scout and harass with a larger Ranger contingent. We lost contact with him a few days past. It seems Tywin has blinded us to his actions. We know he is raising another host in the Westerlands, but not much else. If he were to march on us now, I fear we may not be able to hold him off," he sighed, rubbing his eyes, staring intently at the map, as if hoping the winning move of the war would fall right into his hands. He looked exhausted. "And King Robb has put me in charge of all of our bannermen, and looks to me for counsel." She could tell he was stressed and exhausted.

"Fear not uncle, I'm sure when Trysten returns the Volantene's will help us."

"I hope you're right Maerisa" he told her, a sad smile playing across his lifts. She smiled back at him, and he seemed to cheer up.

"But this is no worry of yours."He reassumed his air of confidence and self assurance. "I am sure you're tired from your journey. You should rest. After all, you must look your best, plenty of noble young lords here looking for a beautiful lady." She laughed. "I expect you to join the men and I at dinner tonight." He told her. "Who knows? Perhaps one will catch your fancy." She winced at the idea, not particularly thrilled at the thought of being courted.

"I shall uncle, see you at dinner." She exited the tent, walking back through the camp. She could see her retinue setting up her own tent nearby, but first she had to check on Thunder.

It took some time, she nearly became lost three or four times as she wandered throughout the camp, but luckily a friendly soldier was always there to point her in the right direction. She found the stables, a makeshift lean too, and after a quick chat with the stable boy, she was allowed into Thunder's stall, where she brushed his mane and coat. It always seemed to calm her. Brushing him put her into a sort of trance, soothing her and calming her nerves before the night's events. She was startled by a voice from behind her.

"Beautiful horse, is he yours?"

She turned, surprised. Behind her stood a young man, not much older than her, probably around Trysten's age. Like her uncle, he war simple, practical armor. It fit him loosely. He was not bulky or tall, but certainly handsome in a rough way, his dark hair combed messily, and unlike Trysten, he had a beard.

"You startled me!" She scolded him, doing her best to give him an angry look. He merely smiled and laughed.

"Forgive me, my Lady. I had simply come to check on my own." He was formal, probably the son of some noble lord or other. She tried to ignore him as he approached. Thunder watched him intently, and from the corner of her eye she could see him place his hand on Thunder's head, stroking him gently. He removed an apple from the satchel around his back, holding it in front of Thunder, who crunched into it eagerly, whinnying with delight. He looked back at her, crunching on his apple.

_Traitor. _She glared at her horse, but he shook his head, and turned back to the boy.

_Well at least he seems to like him._ She thought, watching the boy from the corner of her eye as he ran his hand through Thunder's mane.

"Thunder."

"Doesn't look like a storm" the boy said, glancing up at the sky. She tossed the brush at him.

"No idiot, the horse's name is Thunder." She said. He laughed again.

"Forgive me, my lady. Thunder, will you forgive me?" He asked, looking at the horse sincerely. Thunder gave him a whinny, stomping his hooves and shoving his muzzle into the boy's face. "It appears he has, can you?" He asked. She was silent.

"Well, since you clearly want to be alone." He said, walking out of the stall and moving through the stable towards the end. She sighed, frustrated, and hung Thunder's brush up, following him down.

"Sorry. I'm just in a sour mood lately."

"My apologies my lady.. Perhaps the feast tonight will put you in a better mood. You are going, aren't you?" He asked expectantly.

"I am. That's part of the problem." She paused, as the boy reached the end of the stable, unlocking the gate and entering the stall. She couldn't see his horse, and the wooden wall blocked him from her view, as she followed him. "Will you be attending?" She asked, turning the corner. She gasped in surprise, staring at the huge beast the boy was stroking, running his fingers through the animal's fur. It was a huge, grey, direwolf.

"I should be," he laughed again, flashing her a bright white smile "I'm the one throwing it".


	8. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Hey everybody, hope everyone is still enjoying reading this. In this chapter we get to see a few more canon characters make some appearances and finally get seriously involved in the story, please review and let me know how you think the story is going, or anything you think I could be doing better. Just a quick note to clarify, in this version, Theon has not left for the Iron Islands yet, though Robb plans to send him soon, and the Greyjoys have yet to launch their attacks on the North (including Winterfell). Anyways, please let me know how you think I portrayed the canon characters, I've done my best to stay true to their character but if you think that something is out of place for them please let me know! Enjoy!_

_Maerisa:_

She knelt quickly. The boy in the stables was none other than Robb Stark, King in the North. She had thrown a hairbrush at the most powerful man in the North. She would've laughed if she hadn't been so embarrassed.

"My lord, err, my King, forgive me! I wasn't aware it was-" she stuttered, before he stopped her with a wave of his hand, trying to hide his grin, as she blushed bright red.

"Stand up my Lady, no need to dirty that dress of yours." He told her, now unable to conceal his smile. She was forced to smile as well, the blush fading from her face as he lifter her to her feet.

"I meant no disrespect my King. My humblest of apologies."

"None taken. I take it you are Maerisa Fadyn?" He asked her matter-of-factly.

"Yes your grace." She nodded.

"Relax, call me Robb. Your grace sounds so damned formal" he told her, brushing his direwolf's fur. "Besides, your brother calls me Robb, and since he's practically my brother that would make you my sister" he said, grinning up at her. "No need for any formalities here Maerisa. I may call you Maerisa, correct?"

"Of course your- Robb." She caught herself.

"Good. How is your brother? Have you any news?"

"I've heard nothing, though he's only just left. I'm sure we'll receive word from him soon" she told him, nervously brushing back her blonde hair.

"I should hope so. I'm sorry for what happened to your father and brother," he told her sincerely, "they were good men. They will be missed. I promise you though, one day they shall be avenged."

_And who will avenge the men who he kills to avenge them?_ She asked herself.

"Will you walk with me Maerisa?"

"Of course your gra- Robb." She replied, taking his arm as he led her from the stables, his Direwolf at his heels. They walked throughout the camp, talking about Thunder, his Direwolf who she learned was named Grey Wind, their families, and their homes.

"You miss it don't you?" He asked her.

"Every moment." She answered, and he nodded in understanding.

"It's been so long since I've been home. I miss Winterfell. Rickon must be old enough to ride by now. I haven't seen him in forever..." he trailed off, looking wistfully northwards. After a moment, he looked back to her, as if remembering something. "You told me you weren't looking forward to the feast. Why?"

"My uncle Scipio thinks it is time I married. He means to arrange a suit, hopefully finding a suitable match tonight." She confessed. "I'm afraid I won't love him. What if he's some sour northerner, or old or ugly. How can I agree to marry someone I've never met?" She asked him.

"Well, we Northerners aren't so sour and grim all the time." He laughed, and she groaned, as she gave him a mock curtesy and asked for forgiveness, before he became serious again.

"I understand how you feel." He answered, guiding her through the camp and back to her own pavilion. "When my mother arranged my marriage with one of Walder Frey's daughters, I was somewhat less than thrilled. Then I met Talisa, and well, the rest is history. But I can understand your fear." They were both silent for a bit, before Robb spoke up.

"You know, you remind me quite a bit of my sister. She never wanted to marry either, always so independent and headstrong. But keep an open mind. I know there are plenty of good men here, and they would all be lucky to have you as a wife." He told her, looking her sincerely in the eye.

"Thank you Robb."

"I promise you, I'll talk with your uncle. I'll make sure no one horrid ends up on the list. You have my word." She thanked him.

"Well, here we are." He said, pointing to her tent. "I should be going, lots to do before tonight" he explained. "I'll see you there. It's been a pleasure to meet you Maerisa. I'm sure we'll talk again later." She thanked him for his company, and he walked off, heading back to the main tent to prepare for the night's festivities. She watched him walk away. He was a good man. Talisa was lucky to have him. She could only hope her betrothed would be as kind and good natured as he was, and maybe even handsome. She was jarred from her thoughts by the sound of one of her ladies-in-waiting shouting to her.

"Maerisa! Where have you been? We need to prepare you for tonight!" She screeched. Maerisa sighed, turning and entering the tent.

_Later that Night_

Dusk had fallen, and the soldiers huddled in small groups around small cooking fires. She could hear them laughing and talking around their fires, the normal sounds of a military camp gone. There was no shouting or yelling, save those of the men laughing at one another, no scrape of steel on steel, no constant hammering of hammers on anvils, no men rushing around carrying armor or weapons, just laughter and the sound of men enjoying themselves.

Meanwhile, she couldn't have felt more dejected as she walked towards the feast. As she passed between the fires, men gave her polite nods or even greetings as she passed them, but she felt completely alone, even with her uncle Scipio at her side. She was completely terrified. What if she committed some sort of blunder? Or said something silly or stupid? Her heart was practically beating out of her chest as two guards pulled the tent flap aside and she was escorted in on her uncle's arm.

She scanned the room, looking for a familiar face or someone she might consider as a suitor. _At the very least it'll help to have an idea of who is appealing, _she thought cynically. The tent was warm, a fire burning at the far end. The smells of different foods drifted through the air. She saw a boar roasting on a spit, rabbit and duck passing by on platters, and arrays of other foods she didn't quite recognize. Many lords sat at a high table at the other end of the tent, laughing and drinking. The sound of music filled the tent, the musicians playing happy, upbeat tunes, as other lords and ladies danced in the center of the tent. Many of them wore rich silks or vests, or fine, ornamental armor. For her own part, she wore an azure silk dress, with gold thread lacing it together, and her favorite necklace, a pendant inlaid with a ruby fox. Her father had given it to her for her last nameday.

Her eyes searched the room, until finding Robb. He flashed her a friendly smile, and her heart slowed a bit from it's terrifying pace.

"Ready?" Her uncle asked. He wore his usual clothing, his simple armor, except this time he wore a tunic over it, embroidered with his black fox sigil. She gulped, and then nodded, as he walked her to the center of the dance floor, before the long table where Robb and his lords sat.

"Your grace," he said, she felt as though she was shaking she was so nervous. She was unused to the formalities of court. This would be many lords first impressions of her, and it was of the utmost importance that her first impression was a good one. She felt absolutely alone, standing before them all, all the eyes on her. She did her best to avoid making eye contact with any of them, but her eyes paused for a moment on Robb, who gave her a reassuring smile. "May I present my niece, Lady Maerisa, of house Fadyn, sister of Trysten Fadyn, Lord of Star's Reach." What now? Was she supposed to curtsy? Or bow? Or say something? Her heart was racing, it surprised her that the other lords and ladies couldn't hear it she felt it was beating so loud. She hesitated, not quite sure of what to do. It felt like an eternity, before she finally curtsied before Robb.

"Lady Fadyn, welcome" he said, a warm, friendly tone in her voice, calming her, as if too say that she did fine. "Please, Lady Fadyn, enjoy the feast, you shall be our most honored guest tonight".

The moment passed, and she felt her heart slowing as she took her seat at the table. She was seated at a place of honor, beside Robb's wife and her uncle Scipio. She watched quietly as the food and wine was brought before them, eating slowly and carefully, and doing her best to remember what Septa Eleanor had taught her about table manners, but her hands still shook.

"Lady Maerisa" Robb's wife said. She almost dropped her fork, she was so startled. She hadn't expected anyone to actually talk to her. She was simply hoping that she could get through the evening without having to say anything. She struggled to regain her composure.

"My queen" she responded.

"Talisa" she said. Maerisa had never known her name, or even seen her for that matter. She had heard she was beautiful, and she supposed the rumors were correct. Talisa was young, probably not much older than she was. She had long, brown locks, dark brown eyes, and darker skin. "I was told you came here to find a suitor?" The queen asked.

"Indeed your grace."

"And?"

"I'm nervous your grace." The queen laughed. Her smile radiated, and somehow Maerisa felt more at ease. She felt this woman understood her.

"Well that is to be expected my dear. If the prospect of an arranged marriage didn't make you nervous, I might question your wits." Maerisa laughed. "Besides," the Queen told her confidently " I am sure you will have plenty of handsome young suitors, being the beauty that you are" she told her.

"Thank you your grace. I'm sure my beauty palls to yours in comparison." Talisa chuckled. "Thank you lady Maerisa. Please though, you must relax. Enjoy yourself!" She could tell she liked the Queen already.

They spent the next few minutes talking. Talisa told her of her life in Volantis, and they found they had much in common. Both never had many noble ladies at court with them, and as such were somewhat unfamiliar with the noble customs. They both were somewhat isolated from the other noble ladies of their age, and never had many noble friends growing up. They talked about Maerisa's life in Star's Reach, and of their families. Talisa told her of her father, a Volantene warlord, and Maerisa told stories of her own lord father. They laughed at stories of their younger sisters, and soon, Maerisa became more comfortable as the evening went on.

Talisa was interrupted in the middle of a story by Robb.

"If I may steal my lady wife for a moment lady Maerisa, I would have this dance" he said.

"Of course your grace." Robb thanked her, taking Talisa by the hand into the center of the dance floor. He motioned for the musicians to begin a song, and they played a slow dance, which Maerisa recognized as the tune of "Two Hearts Beat as One". She watched Talisa and Robb with envy, as they danced, slowly circling the floor. Both seemed completely engrossed by one another, seeming to lose themselves in each other and forget the world around them. Their love was apparent to anyone who was watching. She envied them, marrying for love, while she would have to marry some lordling or knight for alliance. They seemed so completely happy together, having something she knew should could never have. She nearly wished she was a queen, able to renounce her vows and simply marry whom she chose, but she knew that would be unwise. The dance ended, and Robb and Talisa exchanged a quick kiss, much to the other lord's delight, who cheered and laughed at the two of them. The music picked up to a faster tune, and the two separated, returning to the table.

Robb guided Talisa to her seat, before turning to her.

"And now, as the guest of honor, may I have this dance my lady?" He asked her, offering her his hand.

"With your lady wife's permission of course" she responded, looking to Talisa, who smiled and gave them a nod, as Robb led her out onto the dance floor, among the other lords and ladies, who were dancing to "The Bear and The Maiden Fair". They danced the the music, stepping forward and back with the beat and circling one another.

"How are you enjoying the feast?" Robb asked. "Seen anyone to your liking? Anyone you would like me to arrange a meeting with?"

"No your gr- Robb" he smiled at her correction. "No one yet."

"You and Talisa seem to have hit it off though" he noted.

"Indeed, she is a lovely woman." She told him sincerely, and he nodded, looking back to his wife.

"I'm lucky to have her."

"I can only hope my own lord husband and I have the same relationship the two of you have." She told him honestly, and he frowned.

"I'm sure you will Maerisa, a beauty such as yourself. You do look absolutely stunning tonight."

"Thank you Robb."

"Have you met any of the other lord's sons yet?" He asked.

"Not yet, no. Anyone in particular you had in mind?"

"No one really. Perhaps Harrion Karstark, Wendel Maderly, or Benfred Tallhart. All noble families and good men I assure you." Robb told her as they danced.

"Perhaps." She told him, doing her best to spot them in the crowd as he pointed them out.

"If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask" he told her, before they split, changing dance partners. She watched him move away, dancing with a different lady, before she looked to her own partner.

"Fadyn." Came a cold voice. She looked back to her partner. She had not seen him before, but she recognized the Kraken pin on his doublet and immediately knew who he was.

"Greyjoy." She immediately took a disliking too him. There had never been any love lost between the Fadyns and Greyjoys. The Fadyn Silversides had on more than one occasion foiled Greyjoy incursions and raids, and killed Greyjoy pirates and raiders. Those same raiders were the very reason for the formation of the Silversides, who although mirroring the Ironmen's equipment and tactics, shared very few similarities beyond that, and Greyjoy pirates had long been the the bane of Fadyn maritime ventures. She recalled her father once condemning Balon Greyjoy as a "weak, powerhungry, cowardly pirate"._ He never had been one for niceties or euphemisms._ She thought fondly. But the for all the love the Fadyns bore the Greyjoys, their was even lesser on the converse. It had been Fadyn Silverside Marines which had been the first on the beaches at Pyke and Old Wyk, and it had been Fadyn ships that sunk the ships of Rodrik and Maron Greyjoy. No. The Fadyns and Greyjoys were not fond of one another. And now, Balon Greyjoys heir, Theon, stood before her.

He was silent as they danced, and as he ignored her she did her best to get a good look at him. He was taller than Robb, with a lithe, wiry frame. His hair was short and messy, and hung in loose, dirty brown curls around his head. He wore a black doublet over his armor, embroidered with a Gold Kraken, a dark blue cloak, and black boots.

"So you're the fabled beauty of Star's Reach" he told her abruptly, still not making eye contact as they danced. "Bit of an overstatement really." He told her callously. "The great Lady Maerisa Fadyn. The mountain rose." He said sarcastically. "Not quite sure what all the fuss is really about." He shrugged nonchalantly. She did her best to remain silent, resisting the urge to slap this Greyjoy, knowing he would take more satisfaction if he managed to get a reaction out of her.

"Apparently not much of a talker either. It appears taking a Fox as your sigil doesn't impart their wit." He told her. She had always heard Greyjoys were irritating, but gods was this one infuriating. That was the last straw.

"It appears taking a squid for yours though, does impart some of its qualities" she told him curtly. "Such as being slimly and disgusting, not to mention the smell." He smirked at that. Even his smirk was infuriating. It was a cocky, self assured look, as though he was superior to everyone.

"And the young fox speaks at last. She's cleverer than she looks." He told her, still not breaking stride in the dance and still not making eye contact.

"Well I wish I could say the same of you Lord Greyjoy." She told him. "And unfortunately, you don't look particularly clever to begin with." He grinned again, a mischievous grin, infuriating, but somehow endearing. She didn't know how Robb put up with him.

"But the fox has claws and fangs, it would seem" he told her, chuckling to himself.

"And may I ask what seems to be so humorous lord Greyjoy?"

"You are my lady."

"And why might that be?" She demanded.

"Because underneath those pretty clothes, and behind that pretty face and all the innocence, you can be rather scathing. Certainly not what I was expecting from a Fadyn." He told her, finally looking at her. His eyes were bluish grey, like the sea on a stormy day.

"Was that a compliment lord Greyjoy?" He merely smirked, before leaving her, the dance over. She huffed, her heart was beating rapidly again. _Damned Greyjoy, riling me up. Who does he think he is? With his damned cocky attitude and self-satisfied smirk. Gods is he irritating. _She thought angrily as she walked back towards her seat, doing her best to ignore him and put him far from her thoughts. Unbeknownst to her, he watched her return to her seat, a small smile on his face as she stormed back, an irritated expression on her face.

_Margaery- earlier that day_

They had been riding back from King's Landing. She was accompanied by her brother, Ser Loras, and her grandmother, Olenna, as they returned to Highgarden from the capital. She had been betrothed to King Joffrey Baratheon (or Lannister as his enemies were fond of calling him) for only two months, and she was already growing exhausted with him. The boy was sadistic. He tortured women and children and seemed to revel in killing, but he was not a knight or a soldier. He was cowardly boy, who often as not hid behind his mother's skirts or his Kingsguard's armor whenever there was real work to be done. No. He was too cowardly to be a knight, and too cruel, monstrously so if Sansa Stark was to be believed. He was a spoiled brat.

But her betrothal to him had been necessary, she tried to convince herself. It provided a powerful alliance between houses Tyrell and Lannister, and, most importantly, it would make her the queen. She would improve the lives of the poor. She would help them, protect them from him, she tried to tell herself, doing her best to justify her marriage to that little bastard, telling herself that if she did not sit beside him on the throne, then someone weaker might, someone who would let him commit his atrocities. But she found that she was having trouble assuring herself. She did her best to help people though. It was her duty. One day she would be their wueen, or their lady, and it was her duty to protect and help them, whether that was through charity, medicine, or simple kindness.

Loras rode behind her, as he often did. She liked to ride out in front of the column, to be alone with her thoughts for once. Constantly playing the good, noble lady, too manage the politics and diplomacy and to smile for those you hated was exhausting, and it was nice to simply be herself once more, riding back home to spend some time away from her betrothed. Her grandmother rode farther back, sitting in a carriage, flanked by Ser Loras and other armed guards.

They were almost home. She recognized the Mander, its calm waters, as she rode through the woods. Sunlight filtered through the forest, dappling the road, and shining through the lush canopy. She could smell flowers on the breeze, growing on beside the road in clumps of red, blue, yellow, and violet and spreading out into meadows in between the trees, as songbirds darted through the canopy, their songs music as the wind ruffled the treetops.

She sighed happily. She had missed this so much. They were nearly home, and she enjoyed the feeling of the warm breeze through her hair as she rode her white mare. She heard hoofbeats approaching from farther down the road, but her view of the horse and its rider was obscured by the trees, until the horse came trotting into view. She waved to its rider, but received no reply. The horse paused on the road, watching them as they approached. She did her best to make out the rider, until the horse turned it's flank to them and she gasped, spurring her own horse faster.

The horses flank was slick with blood, and a man lay in the saddle, slumped over, unconscious. She heard Loras shout behind her, startled by her outburst, until noticing the man in the saddle. She called for Maester Cadwall to come quickly, as she neared the man.

She dismounted her horse, grabbing the reins of the man's horse and doing her best to calm it, and take its rider out of the saddle. Loras helped her, lifting the man onto the ground and doing his best to examine the man.

"He's still alive" he told her "though for how much longer I don't know. These wounds look serious." Maester Cadwall ran up to them, carrying a jug of water and his medical kit.

"Margaery, we need to clean this blood off him first. Take the water" he told her, handing her a wet cloth. She scrubbed at the mans face and armor, doing her best to locate his wound. Loras did the same, scrubbing away dried blood.

Upon closer inspection, the man was really no more than a boy, no older than herself. A large cut ran across his forehead, still bleeding. His face was pale, and his brownish blonde hair was matted in clumps with dried blood. He might've been handsome if not for the dried blood covering his face and chest. His breathing was shallow.

Loras paused for a moment, examining something on the boy's cloak.

"What?" She asked him.

"Look," he said holding up a silver pin on the boy's camouflage cloak in the shape of a leaf. "He's Ranger, he serves the Fadyns. We should leave him." She resisted the urge to slap him.

"He's wounded and you just want to leave him here? We have to help him." She told him, determined. Loras simply sighed. "As you wish sister, but father won't like it." he told her, as he went back to scrubbing the boy down. Maester Cadwall did his best to stop the blood. The boy was badly wounded and bleeding from numerous wounds. A sword had cut through his armor, slicing his side, though luckily the cut wasn't deep. The gash on his forehead wouldn't stop bleeding though, and a cut on his thigh had cut nearly to the bone, and he was bleeding from numerous other scratches and wounds. She helped Cadwall as he stitched up the boys leg, and bandaged his head, doing his best to apply a field dressing, since they were still nearly half a days ride from Highgarden. They loaded him into the carriage, beside her grandmother, who didn't complain, only saying that she would be rather cross if the boy bled on her.

"I did my best to bandage him my lady" Cadwall told her, and she nodded solemnly as they rode. "But he needs medical attention. It's of the utmost importance we get him back to Highgarden and treat him properly as soon as possible. I don't know how much time he has left, he's lost quite a bit of blood." He told her gravely.

"Then we best keep moving. And quickly" she told him, spurring her horse to a gallop, and the rest of the column followed.


	9. Chapter 8

_Author's Note: Hey guys, sorry for the delay on the chapter, i've been up to my neck in school work, and combined with this being a harder chapter to write and some writers block I had trouble getting this one done. Never fear though! Chapter eight is here! Please review, especially if you have any comments on character portrayal or how they act and more importantly, Enjoy! _

_Iagan_

He awoke in a small bed. He was groggy and disoriented, and his head throbbed. He could feel a damp cloth on his forehead, and could hear people mumbling around him. Something about letting him die or simply killing him. He must've been captured by the Lannisters. They didn't seem to realize he was conscious yet. He had to escape. He had to get a warning to Robb. He waited, listening for their footsteps. He could hear someone approaching, moving towards him. He felt their presence next to him. They placed a hand on his head. Time seemed to slow. He grabbed it at the wrist, wrenching them over his shoulder and wincing at the effort, sending them sprawling on their back on the bed. His eyes flashed open, cold and menacing, bringing his wrist down to make the killing blow on the throat, getting a clear look at his adversary and analyzing the room for other threats. His hand covered the mouth to prevent them from alerting the guard.

Then he noticed however, it was no soldier. It was a she. She was screaming. She was an innocent. He couldn't harm her. Ranger code dictated as such. He stopped the blow just inches from her throat. He withdrew her hand from her mouth, and he scrambled back in the bed, moving away from her, shocked at his own actions. He had nearly killed her. She lay, panting on the bed, fear in her eyes, but her screams had stopped.

On the floor lay a shattered pitcher, water spilling across the tiles. A window was open, a warm breeze rushed across his face. He looked out. Before him was a castle, but it was not Harrenhall. The room was in fact empty of any guards whatsoever. Perhaps they were outside. He looked down. His leg had been bandaged, and more bandages were wrapped around his head and torso. He was confused. If the Lannisters had taken him, why was he not in Harrenhall? Why were there no guards? Why were they healing him if they just meant to kill him?

"Where" he paused, knotting his eyebrows as he tried to answer any of the many questions running through his mind "Where am I?" He asked the girl, who had moved over to the ground, retrieving the broken pieces of pitcher.

"Highgarden." She told him curtly, standing and looking him square in the eye. She was not unattractive. She had long, brown curls, fair skin, brown eyes, and an attractive body.

"Highgarden?" He asked, stunned. He had made it. "How long was I out?"

"It's been a day since we found you. You were unconscious, but luckily the fever has broke by now. Your wounds will take longer to heal however." She told him, examining him. "And who exactly are you?" She asked him, her eyes assessing him. He paused. Was it safe to tell this girl? What would the Tyrells do if they knew his true identity? But it was his only chance. He had to get the message to Robb.

"I am Iagan Fadyn, son of Marius Fadyn, Captain of the Star's Reach Rangers, Nympha Company. I must speak with Lord Mace" he said, standing up, wincing at the effort. The girl rushed over to him, stopping him.

"No, you must rest. You are in no position to be moving around" she told him, placing a hand on his chest and laying him back down on the bed. " Eat," she told him, placing a plate in front of him with some fruit and bread. " You must recover your strenght. Lord Mace will see you shortly, now that you're awake I'm sure he has a few questions for you. But for now you must rest." He tried to resist, to sit up once more and walk from the bed, but his strength failed him.

"It is urgent my lady. I must speak with him at once" he cried, but she said nothing, leaving the room.

_About an hour later_

The door flew open, and armored men entered the room, he did his best to sit up. A man in a green and gold doublet strode in, followed by the maid he had met, an old woman, and a boy looking to be about his age in a fine suit of armor.

"May I present, the Lord Mace Tyrell, his son Loras, and mother, Lady Olenna Tyrell" the girl told him.

"Margaery said you were awake" Mace told him.

"M-Maergaery?" Iagan paused for a moment. Mace looked to the serving girl. _No, it couldn't be. Inearly killed Margaery Tyrell? Mace will have my head! _He thought. He struggled to sit up, then, trying to stand out of his bed, collapsed to the floor, doing his best to kneel before the Tyrells.

"Lord Mace," he said. Mace nodded approvingly, guiding him to his feet. "Please," he gesutred "return to your bed, you must rest. I would have you tell me your story" he said, guiding Iagan back to the bed and standing beside him. So Iagan told him his story. How he had raided the Lannister supply train, the ambush, the fight with the Clegane men, and how he survived and ended here. Olenna watched him cautiously, Loras listened intently, hanging on his every word from the battles. Margaery regarded him curiously, as his eyes darted from her to her Lord father, who seemed somewhat bored by him.

"Indeed." Mace said at the end of his story, nodding as if his mind has been made up. "An interesting story boy, but as I'm sure you know, we are allied to the Lannisters, and I am sure your Lord brother will pay a hefty ransom for you. No hard feeling you understand, but you are now our prisoner." Mace told him coldly. "Take him to the dungeons" he said almost apathetically, and the guards moved forward, taking Iagan by both arms and hauling him out of the bed. Mace and the other Tyrells began to move from the room.

"No!" Iagan shouted. "Lord Mace, please! Throw me in the dungeons if you must, execute me! But please! Allow me a message to Lord Robb! Allow me to warn him!" Mace and the other Tyrells paused. Mace turned, gesturing to the guards to halt.

"To warn him? Of what?" He asked, his interest seemingly piqued.

"Of the massacre! The wedding my lord!" Iagan cried frantically.

"A massacre? How? Tell me more?"

"Bring me my pack! I can show you!" Iagan told him. Mace regarded him with suspicion for a moment. His eyes strayed to the Lady Olenna, who gave an almost imperceptible nod, but to Iagan's senses, heightened by Ranger training, it was blatantly obvious. _Lady Olenna is the true power here. _He thought, taking note.

Mace nodded to the guards, who left the room for a moment, bringing Iagan's rucksack in with them when they returned. He rummaged through the contents for a moment before producing the letter.

"Read this my Lord. It will tell you everything." Olenna snatched the letter from his hand before Mace could retrieve it. She opened it, her eyes scanning the page, a small frown becoming more and more evident the more she read. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she looked up.

"Tywin Lannister conspires with Walder Frey and Roose Bolton to murder Robb Stark and his bannermen at the wedding between Walder's daughter and Edmure Tully" she said matter-of-factly. Mace grimaced, while Margaery, who had been whispering to Loras, became suddenly silent.

"It's unheard of! Dishonorable! How dare they!" Loras cried angrily.

"Walder would never be so foolish. To kill his own guests? It would bring the wrath of the old and the new gods with it." Mace exclaimed. Olenna snorted.

"Not to mention the hatred of the smallfolk and nobles alike, as well as hatred towards anyone who associates with the plotters." She paused, thinking.

"So you see my Lord and Lady" Iagan interrupted "it is of the utmost importance that I warn Robb." He wrenched his arms free from the guards hold, tearing one of their swords from its scabbard, leaning on his good leg and struggling to stand without the guards assistance. But he stood, his sword shifting back between Lord Tyrell and the Tyrell guards, as if to defend against the coming attacks. "Seventy-nine men died carrying that message Lord Tyrell! Seventy-nine. Seventy-nine good men! Good men! With families and wives and children. Seventy-nine families I will have to go home to, and explain to that their loved ones died in vain! I will not have that happen!" He shouted, a crazed look in his eye. "I will die if I must! I will cut down every single one of you, if it means that message reaches Robb Stark!" He yelled, and Mace took a step backward in fear. A fury burned in Iagan's eyes, and even though he was in no position to fight, he was determined. "Please! I will double my ransom, anything, but let the message reach him!" He said desperately. The tension grew in the room, the Tyrell guards drawing their blades and pressing him back. Just as it looked as though the first blow would be struck, Olenna interrupted.

"Stop!" She shouted, and the guards paused. "Calm yourself child," she told him in a soothing voice. "No one will be cutting down anyone." She looked at Loras, who had his sword drawn, ready to cut down Iagan, fixing a withering glare upon him and he backed down.

"You have spirit boy. It'd be a pity to kill you. You have honor. More than can be said for that damned Lannister brood." She told him.

"The message will reach Robb." She said commandingly. Mace Tyrell looked at her, shock on his face. "It will?" He questioned. "And what if I say it won't?" He asked.

"Oh shut up!" She told him curtly. "We will send the message. It will do us no good to be allied to the men who break guest right. Do you think they will grant us any more curtesy the minute we outlive our usefulness to them? No. They'll butcher us just as they plan to butcher the Starks. Besides, you damned fool, do you think the other nobles and smallfolk will take kindly to this? Once news breaks that the Lannisters orchestrated the whole bloody affair they will be the most hated family in Westeros. The whole damn kingdom will rebel, that is the ones that haven't yet. It will do us no good to associate with them. The North will never forget it, we will become just as hated." She told him scathingly, and he was silent.

"But what of my betrothal to Joffrey grandmother?" Margaery asked.

"We'll find you a different suitor, love. The boy always was a sadistic little shit anyway. The seven kingdoms will burn under his rule." Olenna replied. "If we stay with the Lannisters now, they will drag us down with them. They are collapsing in on themselves. The smallfolk already hate them, and this will only make matters worse. Cersei is incompetent as we've seen, Jaime is crippled, and Tywin may not have much time on this earth left, especially if his plot becomes known. The only Lannister who could ever pose a threat is Tyrion, and the imp's family is to busy trying to remove him from their affairs anyway. No. We cannot support them any longer, not if we can prevent this."

"Lower your weapons Iagan." She told him commandingly. "I swear to you, the letter will be sent. You have my word." She said when she saw him hesitate. He lowered his sword.

"From now on, Iagan Fadyn will be our guest. No harm shall come of him. Take the letter to Maester Cadwall, tell him to send it with a raven to Riverrun." She said, handing the letter to the guard, who walked from the room.

"Thank you my lady" Iagan said gratefully to Olenna, limping back to his bed. Margaery moved forward, helping him back to the bed and redressing his bandages. Blood had begun to soak them from his recent activity, and she unwrapped them, replacing them with new ones.

"Drink this" she said and when she saw him eye the cup suspiciously she added "it's milk of the poppy. It will help with the pain and help you sleep." He took the cup, drinking it slowly.

"I believe we are done here." Olenna said, leaving the chamber, Loras and Mace in tow. Mace cast him an angry look over his shoulder before he left.

"You need to rest" Margaery told him, and he felt his eyelids growing heavy before he fell fast asleep.

_Trysten_

Each morning he awoke well before sunrise, being dragged from his bed and taken to serve Master Afzal. He quickly learned the ways of the manse, the passages, the hallways, storing it all away in his mind, plotting his escape. Each night, he and Fiorenzo talked. He was right, the work was exhausting. His men showed the visible signs of exhaustion, the back-breaking labor of the mines wearing them down. Ser Daven rarely spoke, simply entering the chamber and falling upon his bed, fast asleep, while he and Fiorenzo talked late into the night, long after the candles had burned out. Fiorenzo told him of his family, his wife, his daughter, of Braavos, and Trysten told him of Star's Reach, his father, and his adventures with the second sons.

He knew that compared to the other men, his job was easy, but it didn't make it any less exhausting. He served Master Afzal as a scribe. Afzal wasn't aware that he could read, but rapidly learned that he could speak almost fluent Ghiscari and Valyrian, a product of his time in Essos with the sellswords and his Maester's teachings when he was a boy. He pored over long documents, detailing slave purchases and sales, trade agreements, bills of sale, largely boring documents. Occasionally though, he found something interesting. It had been nearly a week since they were bought by Afzal, and he had been asked to retrieve a scroll detailing the Master's soldiers. He found it, quickly scanning it. The results were startling. The Master had no real soldiers, only slaves, and none of them unsullied. If he could just convince them to stop obeying they could overthrow the Masters.

He brought the scroll back, handing it to Afzal as he pored over a map in his private chambers. Fiorenzo stood at the doorway, watching him closely. Trysten stepped back, waiting for his next orders in the shadows, until the Master beckoned him over.

"Tell me Trysten," he said, stroking his beard "what do you see here?"

"A map, my lord" he responded, his voice dripping with disdain, but Afzal was too engrossed in his thoughts to notice the slight.

"A map. And what is it a map of?" He asked condescendingly.

"Slaver's Bay, my lord."

"Indeed. And what are the cities of slaver's bay?"

"Mereen, Yunkai, Astapor, my lord".

"Ah but not so. You see, Yunkai and Astapor have been sacked. Overrun by some dothraki bitch calling herself a queen. She's killing the masters, freeing the slaves." Trysten was silent. He had heard whispers of the woman, but never truly believed them. And even so, Mereen's walls would hold, they had never fallen.

"Tell me boy, would you like her to visit?" Trysten remained silent. He wanted to scream at Afzal with all his being, to tell him that he could burn in whatever hell the gods deemed him worthy of, that he hoped the Dothraki queen cut out his tongue, put out his eyes, and served them to him with a poisoned glass of wine, but he did not. He held his tongue, remaining silent, avoiding looking his master in the eye.

"I thought so." Afzal clucked his tongue," what you couldn't possibly understand boy, is that the slaves need the masters. We keep the order. Men crave order. They want to be ruled. To be told what to do. Look at the Dothraki barbarians" he said, turning back to the map and waving his hand in a wide arc over the Dothraki sea, knocking over horse pieces and small wagons. "They do whatever they want, as free as the wind or their horses, and they are barbarians. All they do is eat and kill and fuck. No. Men need to be told what to do. We keep the order, the peace. It is the duty of the lesser men to obey their betters, to obey, and if they do they will thrive." He was silent for a moment.

"This Dothraki bitch must learn that."

"Will you be the one too teach her my lord?" Trysten asked, his voice full of hope.

"No much to my disappointment. The masters have determined that she is not to be met in the field. She commands an army of unsullied," he laughed. "The bitch frees the slaves with slaves! Yet she does not see that without the system, without us, she, and this world" he gestured wildly, taking a long swig of wine "are nothing. Just chaos." He laughed. Trysten's heart sunk with disappointment. Afzal wouldn't be getting himself killed.

_More's the pity. _Trysten thought.

"No. We shall teach her a different way. A much harsher lesson" Afzal told him darkly. Trysten shuddered at the look in his eyes.

_Later that night_

"Are you mad?" One man called.

"No! He's brilliant! Don't you want your freedom?"

"The Masters will put us down! They always do!" Another shouted.

Trysten quieted them all. He had asked Fiorenzo to call a meeting of the slave leaders. They met in a secret tunnel, well below the streets of Mereen and away from prying ears.

"Don't you see? This is our chance! The Masters will be so focused on this queen they'll barely realize what's happening beneath their very noses! It's all an illusion! I've seen the numbers, the reports, the scrolls. Their armies are all slaves! Like us! We just need to convince them to fight with us, or at least not fight against us!"

"But we've tried that! The Masters always win! We cannot fight them!" An old man proclaimed.

"Only because not everyone worked together. If one unit stays loyal, we're doomed. But if we all revolt, who will fight us? The Masters?" Trysten asked. A few men nodded in agreement.

"We're not soldiers! We are bakers, miners, farmers!" The room dissolved into uproar again as men clamored to be heard over one another, arguing fiercely what to do.

"No." Trysten said. "We're none of those. We are slaves! Look around you! This is what we've become! We scrape the ground for table scraps, we live or die at the Master's whim! Do you fear death? Because I can assure you this is not life! This is worse than death!" The room was silent, hanging on his every word. "I may be young, and I may be new to this existence of yours, but I can tell you it is not a happy one. I've seen the work they put us through! It makes us strong. Stronger than he who wields a whip! I cannot promise you life. I cannot promise you we will win. But isn't it worth it? Isn't it worth just a chance at a free life? Isn't it worth it, to die free? Just a chance?" The room was silent. Then, slowly, the men stood up.

"I admire your passion boy, but we simply can't win. Ask your friend Fiorenzo here what happens to slaves who revolt." The old man said, turning and leaving. Soon, Trysten was left alone with Fiorenzo, who simply shook his head sadly.

"I told you they wouldn't fight. No one will defy the Masters." He said, before following the slave leaders out, leaving Trysten alone with his thoughts, listening to the quiet clank of chains as they echoed down the long corridors away from him.

_Maerisa_

They had arrived at the Twins earlier that morning. The wedding festivities were scheduled to begin that night, with the ceremony and feast taking place in two night's time. Meanwhile however, the northern host and Frey armies ate and drank. In a common southron practice, she learned, prior to the wedding night there was often a ball. The Frey's had decided upon a masquerade ball, and her uncle Scipio had told her that she had to attend.

"The Freys are a large, powerful family" he told her solemnly "and Walder Frey has many sons, perhaps you'll find one you like". She had groaned. If the stories of Walder Frey were true, he was an bitter old man stricken with gout, with more wives that she had siblings. He was a man of little honor if the Greatjon's mutterings were correct, and many called him behind his back "the late" Lord Walder, and joked he had only missed the battle of the Trident because he fielded his army from his own loins and was waiting for it too mature.

She was escorted into the great hall by her uncle, Scipio. He wore a mass of a black fox, adorned with fur and feathers. His gold eyes glittered behind the mask, sharply contrasting with the darkness of the mask and his hair. After leading her in, he left her abruptly, going to mingle with many of the other northern lords.

She sat at the long table. Beside her was one of Walder Frey's daughters, she hadn't learned her name. The girl was uncomely to say the least, her face pockmarked and gross, with oily, wiry brown hair and crooked teeth, but she seemed pleasant enough. To her right sat Dacey Mormont. She hadn't spent much time with Dacey, but the two had ridden alongside one another on the march to the Twins.

"Seen anyone of interest?" Dacey asked. She had seemed to take it as her duty to help her find a match.

"No one in particular." She said. "You certainly look nice, perhaps you should wear a dress instead of armor more often" she said jokingly. Dacey wore a long, green gown, and held a pale white mask. "If I may ask, who are you?" She questioned. Dacey laughed.

"I fear not, armor and a mace seems to suit me better than a dress and a hairbrush. Tonight however, Robb has asked I stay on my best behavior, I am one of the children of the forest" she said, gesturing to her mask with irritation. It was carved with ornate leaves and a laurel wreath. Dacey hated having to act the part of a lady, and Maerisa knew she could easily fight any of the men in the room and stand a fair chance of winning. "And who might you be?" She asked, examining Maerisa's own dress as she reached for a leg of chicken.

"The maiden" Maerisa said. Although normally not one for dresses, she preferred riding trousers and her boots, tonight at Robb's request she had attended the ball in one of her finest dresses. It was a silvery gown, decorated with golden heart tree leaves running along the smooth silken fabric. Her hair was tied up in the traditional southern style, with a pin holding it in place, and a small circlet of flowers carved in silver sitting on her head.

"The maiden" Dacey said in surprise, examining the mask "I wasn't aware House Fadyn kept the seven."

"We don't." Maerisa replied "but my Uncle Scipio thought it might be more accommodating to any southern suitors if I didn't seem quite as objective to their gods." She explained.

"Ahh, Scipio. He always did have a talent for diplomacy." Dacey said sarcastically. She served on Robb's war council as well, and was known to frequently disagree with her uncle on matters of strategy. Maerisa laughed.

"That he does." She said, popping a lemon tart into her mouth. The band began to play, an upbeat, lively tune, and soon the dance floor began to fill. It started with Edmure Tully and his betrothed Roslin Frey, dancing together. Tully wore an azure mask, with fins sprouting from either side, obviously portraying the Tully fish. Roslin's persona was somewhat more ambiguous.

_Probably some forest nymph_. She thought, immediately feeling a pang of grief as the word reminded her of her fallen half-brother Iagan, leader of the Nymphs company in the Rangers.

Soon the majority of the hall was dancing, the music slowing to a traditional southron ballad, and the lords and ladies danced a more reserved, formal dance. She had remained seated, watching quietly, until Robb Stark approached her.

"Well you seem the picture of joy." He said, flashing her a grin.

"Forgive me, my Lord, I don't generally dance." She said, offering him a mock-curtsy.

"You can't be that bad. Not any worse than myself, let alone many of these drunks" he said, looking over too the dance floor and one of the Frey bannermen staggered around, doing his best to keep his balance and the contents of his stomach.

"Our noble allies" she responded sarcastically, and he grew serious for a moment.

"Indeed," he said, a dark look cast over his face. "Ever so noble." He paused for a moment, as if angry or lost in thought. The moment passed however, and he regained his composure and returning to his good spirits. _For all his seriousness, _she thought, _he is still just a boy. No older than Trysten. He still needs to laugh now and again. _

"Dacey," he said, turning to her companion, "I thought we agreed we would work together to find her a happy match" he said jokingly.

"Yes my lord" the older girl said, looking at him.

"And how can we do that, if she remains here?" he asked innocently.

"I'm not certain we can my lord" Dacey replied, casting Maerisa a mischievous look.

"In that case, lady Mormont" Robb said, "may I steal her for a moment?" He asked.

"Be my guest." Dacey replied, a somewhat pained look on her face.

"Lady Maerisa," Robb asked "may I have this dance." She pouted at Dacey for a moment, shooting her a "thanks a lot" look, as Robb brought her out onto the dance floor.

"So no one yet? Really?" He asked circling her. "You have met everyone though?"

"Yes, I've met them all. Maderly, Karstark, Umber, that infuriating Greyjoy boy" she said, and Robb smiled at the mention of Theon.

"He's a good man." He told her.

"He's an irritating self-satisfied man." She corrected him, and he smiled apologetically.

"That too. Theon may have his faults, but he means well. He's like a brother to me."

"I know."

"What of the others?"

"Manderly seemed pleasant enough, but not exactly much of a thinker."

"No. That's true, Wendel is a fighter at heart." Robb said. "What about Mallister?"

"He's too concerned with his damn honor and winning this war. He has no time for love."

"You truly are a lady hard to please" Robb jested. "Or should I say a 'maiden' tonight? Turning to the seven?" He asked, grinning.

"You know damn well why I'm dressed like this. We all can't wear a wolf mask and be happily married." She told him curtly, referencing his own mask for the night, clearly a direwolf, and he smiled.

"Speaking of which, where is your lady wife." The smile instantly disappeared from his face.

"She is... uhh... indisposed... after our prior dance... and we thought it best not to antagonize Lord Walder with her presence..." He trailed off, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder to Walder Frey.

"You're a terrible liar Robb." She told him, and he gave her a small apology.

"Sorry. But I suppose I can trust you. However, this isn't the place to discuss it. I'll tell you later." He promised, before the dance split them and she found herself with a new partner.

As she was whisked around the dance floor, she encountered numerous different Lords. She managed to determine who most of them were, many of them her potential suitors. They all seemed pleasant enough, but she didn't feel a connection to any of them, and as the dance neared it's end, she had given up any hope of meeting someone that night.

The dance drew into is final set, and she found herself with the man who was to be her last dance partner. He was taller than her, and wore a dark blue doublet. His mask was interesting to her, a sea-blue mask, encrusted with scallops and barnacles. He wore high black boots, with clicked across the stone floor with each step as they twirled around the dance floor. Behind the mask, peering at her from behind the shells, were two beautiful blue-grey eyes, watching her own as they moved, drawing her in. He had brown curls, which hung loosely around his head, falling messily around his face, and she resisted the urge to tuck them into place.

_Who is this man?_ She thought. He was no northern lord, she would've met him already, and her uncle had pointed out all the southern lords that were not present in the northern host already. He danced well, moving carefully, each step precise. A dagger was strapped to his hip, tapping against his side as they moved.

"And who might you be?" He asked, and her heart jumped at his voice. She did her best to keep her own voice steady, doing her best to avoid looking into his eyes.

"The maiden, and you are?"

"Lord of the Sea. The drowned god." The man said, twirling her around. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Her heart raced at that.

"You certainly are a good dancer" she told him, keeping her voice calm and collected. "Have we met before?"

"I don't believe so. I would've remembered a beauty like you." He said, and she blushed, looking away from him. The world seemed to slow as they danced, her hands around his neck and his hands on her hips as they glided across the dance floor to the music. Then, the music stopped. The dance was over. He nodded politely at her, and then, just as quickly as he had arrived, he was gone. She stepped away.

_Gods what is happening to me? _She shook her head, trying to collect herself. _A pretty face and a few nice comments and I swoon?_ She thought, frustrated. Yet still, a little voice in her head whispered it was more than that. _Shut up. _She thought. _I'll be damned if I'm going to fall for some Southron boy like this. _She thought determined. _I don't even know his name._ She left the hall to get some fresh air.


	10. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: Hey guys! I figured to make up for the lack of updates I'd get you guys two chapters in quick succession. Sorry this ones a bit shorter, but I've been quite busy and I'm not sure when the next one will be, so I'll do my best to get you the next chapter ASAP. The feedbacks been great, thanks to everyone who reviewed! Hopefully you guys are still enjoying the story, as usual review with any comments, concerns, feedback, etc, and as usual, enjoy!_

_Maerisa_

She stood on the balcony, overlooking the trident. Behind her, in the great hall, she could hear the music playing and the sounds of men laughing. But she needed to clear her head. She missed Star's Reach. She missed her mother and sister and her brother's and her father. She had never been away this long.

Above her, the stars twinkled in the night sky. In the distance, she could hear an owl hoot, the wind rustling through the trees and below her, the quiet rush of water through the reeds as the trident passed under the bridge. She looked up. Her father had always told her _"no matter where you go, no matter what happens, the world will go on. Those same stars will watch over you, the same moon, the same sun. They watch over us, protect us, and as long as you can see them, you can find your way home." _ He would tell her as they walked along the beach at night. As she grew older, she came to understand what he meant. Some nights, when he was gone, she would climb up the parapets of the castle onto the roof of the tallest tower and simply look at the stars. She had committed them all to memory. The mother, the warrior, the wolf, the bear, the giant, the dragon, and the stranger, alone, twinkling in its own dark section of the night sky, she knew all of them like the back of her hand.

"_Dad" _she thought, looking up to the heavens, _"if you're up there, if you can hear me, I need your advice. I need a sign." _ She waited. Nothing. She sighed.

She heard the door open behind her, the roar of the festivities escaping and then disappearing again as the door shut. She heard the click of boots on stone behind her, a figure approaching, standing quietly on the balcony.

Although they couldn't have been more than three feet apart, each was completely isolated from the other. They stood, still as statues, simply listening to the sounds of nature, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Then, the figure broke the silence.

"They're certainly beautiful aren't they?" He asked. She looked over to him, nearly doing a double take, it was the same man from the dance. The drowned god.

"Certainly." She said, doing her best to keep her composure.

"I remember learning these constellations" he said "my father taught me. Used to tell me I could navigate using them, sail to anywhere I wanted to go." He told her.

"My father taught them to me too." She replied.

"Oh, really. He must be a smart man."

"He's dead." She said sadly, and he was silent for a moment, as they both looked back out over the river, the starlight glistening off the slow moving water. After a long silence, he spoke again.

"I'm sorry." She was quiet. "Almost makes you miss home doesn't it? Makes this all" he said, gesturing back to the feast "feel so insignificant, so unimportant." He said, and she found herself agreeing with him.

"Sometimes I just wish I could leave it all, get away, go home" she told him honestly, and he nodded in agreement.

"You just want to stop all the games and be allowed to live your life the way you want." He said, understanding. A streak of light moved across the sky, a falling star, and Maerisa felt another pang of longing for home.

"Have you been away long?" She asked.

"Nearly my whole life. I hardly remember it." He said. She shivered, she had grown up in the Vale, but in a valley warmed by the eastern winds, and nights here could get cold fast. He noticed, his eyes connecting with hers for a moment, and she glimpsed the stars twinkling off them before she quickly averted her eyes.

"You're cold." He said simply. "Where are my manners," he said, slipping off his tunic "here, take this." He said, before she waved it away.

"Thank you my lord, but I'm fine, truly," she said, doing her best to stop him. Gods what was happening? Was she losing her mind? She barely knew this man. She didn't even know his name! She couldn't let this happen.

"I insist" he said, cutting her off. He moved closer, putting the tunic around her shoulders, and she pulled it tightly around herself as he held onto it at the shoulders.

"There," he said, a satisfied tone to his voice. "Now isn't that better?" He asked, his face only inches away. She had to admit, he was right. The tunic was warm, far warmer than her dress, and she nodded gratefully to him, meeting his gaze for a moment before looking away. _No, no, no, no_! She thought. _This can't be happening. You can't love him!_ She chastised herself.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned. "Have I offended you? If I did I'm truly sorry- I meant no disrespect" he began before she silenced him.

"It's just" she interrupted, trying to collect her thoughts and compose herself. "it's just..." she trailed off, meeting his eyes once again before looking back down.

"It's just what?" He asked, taking her chin in his hand and tilting her head up towards him, forcing her to look at him.

"I'm afraid I'll do something I'll regret..." She trailed off, and the moment their eyes made contact, she knew she was gone.

"Like what?" He asked, sounding almost genuinely confused. Beneath the mask she could see his eyebrows coming together. His curly hair hung down, over the top of the mask, thrown out of place when he took his tunic off.

"Like this." She breathed, before leaning in, pressing her lips to his. The moment their lips touched, she felt a surge of warmth pass through her body, and he pulled her tight to him, her hands resting upon his chest. She could've sworn the entire feast went silent, the world seeming to come to a stop. She wasn't quite sure how long the kiss lasted, whether it was minutes, seconds, hours, or days, but she knew she didn't want it to end.

Eventually he pulled away ever so slightly, and then it was over. He still held her tight, which she was grateful for, the wind had kicked up and it had become a bit colder. They looked at each other in silence, she brushed a strand of hair out of his face, tucking it back into place, before he broke the silence.

"May I see who the lovely lady is?" He asked, and she laughed quietly. She smiled at him, and he removed the mask. She looked at him, waiting for some sort of reaction.

She did not get the reaction she was hoping for. He dropped the mask in shock. His face turning from one of tenderness to one of horror. She couldn't understand. Why? He stepped back, and as she grasped at his shirt she felt a hard, metal chain pass through her hand. She grabbed it and he paused, remaining where he was. The symbol was unmistakeable. In her hand she held a golden Kraken.

"Greyjoy?" She gasped.

"Fadyn?"

_Iagan_

It had been nearly two days since he arrived at Highgarden. Margaery had not been back to visit him since she had met him with her father and grandmother to barter for his freedom and Robb's life. He knew the letter had been sent, he had followed the Maester up to the raven's roost and watched him dispatch the raven. He could only hope the letter reached Robb in time. The walk to the roost was exhausting, and he barely managed it with his injuries. Maester Cadwall told him he would make a full recovery given time, but he hated the weak helpless feeling that consumed him with his inability to do anything. Cadwall refused to let him leave his quarters, demanding that he rest, but he was going insane simply sitting in his bed staring out the window.

It was for that reason he had snuck out of his quarters to the gardens. _The fresh air will do me good. _He thought, trying to justify ignoring the Maester's rules. He needed to be outside though, and he missed nature. _Rangers aren't meant to be cooped up inside castles_. He thought as he paced the gardens. His cloak was tattered, but he still wore it as he limped along the paths deeper into the gardens into the undergrowth.

He sat in a tree, overlooking the castle grounds beneath him. Even this was better than being cooped up in some bed in the castle, being in the outdoors, rather than in the suffocating stone walls. The wind rustled through the leaves in the trees, blowing through his hair. He watched as lords and ladies walked slowly through the perfectly groomed paths and manicured bushes. As artificial as this wilderness was, it was still superior to his prior arrangement. He watched as lords walked beneath him, discussing matters of state and politics. Servants rushed through beneath him, carrying fruit and wine.

He had always found being in nature helped him think. The trees and grass and life helped him put things in perspective, and calmed him. He hated the confines of castles and cities. It was one of the qualities that made him a fantastic ranger. It was what earned him entry into the rangers in the first place. He had fought with his father and went to the godswood to be alone. Even though his father had legitimized him, they still fought often, a product of his father's rages. He had climbed the weirwood tree, resting in its branches when the saboteur came to burn the weirwood down. He saw him approach, smelled the smoke, and dropped out of the tree on him, plunging his blade through the man's heart before calling for help and quenching the fire. It earned him a place in the Rangers, and singlehandedly changed his life.

He looked down from the tree. Margaery Tyrell was approaching, walking leisurely through the rose gardens. Her brown curls cascaded over her shoulders, shining in the sunlight. Her dress trailed behind her, accentuating her curves as she bent over to pick a rose. He realized he had never thanked her for her care, and nearly killed her.

He dropped down from the tree branch, passing through the brush and moving towards her.

"My lady" she whipped around, nearly screaming before composing yourself.

"Oh. It's you. You really should give people more warning before you do that, it's eerie, nearly killed me of fright."

"My apologies my lady. Common Ranger mistake" he said apologetically, giving her his best friendly smile. Her face remained completely expressionless except for a cold gaze in her eyes. He always forgot that the normal lord's and lady's senses weren't as fine tuned as his, weren't used to people moving as silently as him. It was a burden at times, but it enabled him to move almost completely undetected and held serious benefits. Apparently his social skills were somewhat subpar. Apparently she hadn't forgiven him yet for nearly killing her. A moment of awkward silence passed as she stood, watching him expectantly. She turned to go.

"Wait. Lady Margaery" He said, she turned back towards him. "I never got to thank you, or apologize for nearly killing you" he stammered, giving her a nervous laugh and hoping that it would clear the air between them. She paused, watching him, not betraying a thing. Then, she gave him the most dazzling smile he had seen, and her brown eyes seemed to warm to him.

"It's alright. You'd been through quite a bit. And I think we can drop the formalities." She told him, and he nodded.

"Nevertheless" ughh what was he supposed to say? Growing up an isolated legitimized bastard wasn't particularly beneficial to one's social skills, though it did tend to significantly lengthen one's life expectantly. "I still should've been a bit more cautious".

"True," she laughed "though you seem to have quite a bit of training" she told him. "How do you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"You know... The disappearing act" she gestured broadly to the gardens.

"Oh... That. Just practice I suppose. I've always had a knack for it." He told her.

"It certainly explains how you managed to leave your room without Maester Cadwall stopping you." She looked at him disappointedly.

"Oh. That. Um..." He stammered, trying to come up with his best explanation. She would turn him in otherwise. She laughed.

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone" she whispered to him. Laughing again.

"I just needed to get out of there. It's so cramped and stuffy. I needed the fresh air and to keep in practice." He told her more confidently as they walked through the gardens.

"Believe me, you haven't lost your touch. You really should get back to your room though. You need the rest."

"I need to practice. I should be getting back to the army. They need me."

"How will they manage without one wounded Ranger?" She asked him sarcastically.

"I need to get back. They need me. I'd imagine I'll leave in the next few days."He told, and she looked at him in shock. Even in an expression of shock she was still gorgeous, he thought, before stumbling over a root. She caught him, helping him back up and allowing him to lean on her as he limped alongside her.

"You're in no condition to be going back to the front." She said. He knew she was right. He felt absolutely defeated. Out there men were risking their lives, dying, all for their lord, and he was forced to sit here, completely useless. She must've seen the defeated look on his face because she rapidly changed the subject.

"You're a Ranger, correct?" She asked, though she must've known full well the answer.

"Iagan Fadyn, Captain of Nympha Company, Star's Reach Rangers." He told her, rattling off the title that had been drilled into him over the years. "Or at least, whatever's left of them." He added, and she gave him a sad look.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault though." She told him sincerely. That was what they all would say though. He knew it was a lie. Everything that had happened had been his fault. Upon seeing the dark look that passed over his face she quickly moved on.

"Tell me, is it true that a ranger could hit a dinner plate at two hundred yards with their bows?" She asked.

"Only the bad ones." He laughed, doing his best to forget his failures. "Any decent Ranger could hit a moving one at almost twice that distance." He told her, before backtracking. "Forgive me, I don't mean to boast." He apologized.

"No, no, Ranger marksmanship is legendary," she told him honestly. "I should like to see a display of it someday." She said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Perhaps one day you will, though I should hope you aren't on the receiving end." He smiled.

"Perhaps." Margaery replied, and he could see the disappointment on her face.

"I really should be going though. I need to get back to my unit." He said, changing the subject once more.

"Certainly not." She told him quickly, doing her best to be assertive and intimidating. "We can't allow you to leave in your condition."

"No? And you're going to stop me?" He asked. "Do you really think I couldn't sneak out if I wanted too?" He asked, and she smiled, knowing she was defeated.

"You can't leave, you're still hurt, you're to weak to go." she protested weakly. He laughed. She grew serious, stepping away from him. He collapsed to the ground, no longer able to support his weight now that his support was taken from him.

"OW!" He exclaimed, before seeing a satisfied smirk on her face. "Point taken." He paused as she helped him up. "I still need to leave though. I need to get back."

"Gods you're stubborn." She sighed, exasperated. "The guards still have all of your equipment do they not? Your bow, your armor, your sword?" She asked.

"True, but I can always replace them." He did his best to lie, to conceal his love for his equipment. It held a certain sentimental value for him, and it had been with him since he first entered the Rangers.

"You're a terrible liar Iagan Fadyn." She laughed. "Luckily for you though, I'm willing to make you a deal."

"I'm listening."

"I'll retrieve your bow and armor," she promised "If you swear you will not leave until you are healed." She told him.

"Deal-" he began before she cut him off.

"And, you must teach me how to shoot" she demanded, and he laughed.

"Fine."

_Trysten_

He had been utterly disheartened by the lack of support for his plotted rebellion. The slave leaders had completely rejected the idea. Meanwhile, he toiled working for Master Afzal. The more time he spent with the man, the more he realized how completely incompetent, and how terribly cruel, he truly was. The man relied on him for everything, from reading his letters to tasting his food to taking inventory.

_These slave masters know nothing of real work. They're completely helpless. _He thought.

He watched Ser Daven and the Silversides work in the mines day after day, hauling up stones in minecarts. Their backs glistened with sweat, and occasionally the marks of the lash when the Masters deemed they weren't working hard enough.

Comparatively, he had it easy. But he hated every second of it. Every time the Master asked him to bring more wine, every time he asked him his advice on some menial task, all while carrying his sword. It infuriated him. He wanted to simply plunge the sword into Afzal's back.

But there would be reprisals. He knew there would be. A day before a man had his tongue cut out for daring to speak the name of the Dothraki Queen, two more were executed for promising she would free them and telling the slaves to rise up.

_That could've been me._ He thought, as a saw the bodies displayed from the top of the great pyramid, mangled and horribly desecrated. But the city was gearing up for something. He could feel it. There were murmurings of dissent among the slaves. They were growing anxious as the "Dothraki bitch" as Afzal liked to call her neared closer. Two days before the Masters had taken slave children from their parents, nailing them to crosses and nailing their out stretched arms to posts to point the way to the city. It had horrified him that they would mistreat anyone so terribly, let alone children. It was a grotesque and disgusting display, and had enraged the slaves, but still none dared to act.

Their lack of action nearly angered him more than the Master's actions themselves. Nearly. They simply stood by and watched as children were ripped from their parents arms, brutally tortured and mistreated and killed, just so the Masters could make a point of their power that would inevitably fail to achieve anything of value.

The Masters seemed to forget that not everyone in their world was governed by fear as their slaves were, that not everyone would be intimidated by the displays of strength by a few pompous, pampered, incapable bastards. He could only imagine the rage the queen would feel when she saw this gesture, the fury it would cause and the immense support it would garner for her cause. The Masters would fool. If anything this would do more harm than good, and the last thing they needed was a slave uprising with an angry unsullied army at their gates.

But for now the slaves were quiet. They took their punishments and moved in the shadows, concealing their hate and rage. But eventually he knew, something would tip them over the edge. They just needed a push.


	11. Chapter 10

_Author's Note_: _Hey guys! I'm absolutely thrilled you're making connections with the characters and shipping them! It's awesome that the story's broken twenty follows! Thank you to everyone who has followed or faved it! It's great to see you're enjoying it! In regards to comments about when Daenerys will be appearing I can tell you it will be soon, probably within the next two to three chapters, I don't quite have a specific plan. I'm only delaying her arrival to correspond more accurately to her actual arrival in regards to timing with other plot lines in the show and books. Anyways, here is chapter ten, as usual please review, favorite, or follow if you like it, and feel free to review if you don't as well, any criticism helps! Enjoy!_

_Iagan_

Margaery had followed through on her promise. The next morning, he found his bow and a quiver of arrows sitting on his bed, along with his armor.

It was midmorning, and from the sounds of it the castle had already been awake for some time. Maester Cadwall had given him milk of the poppy to help him sleep, and although the time he slept seemed to increase, it only made his nightmares worse. Last nights had been worse than usual. He dreamt he was standing in the fields as Clegane and Lannister horsemen galloped through the flames, cutting his men down as they ran from the flames, though they were engulfed. It was the same dream he had had every night since the attack, and it seemed to be getting stronger. Each night, he was forced to watch helplessly as friends and comrades were brutally butchered again and again, and he was powerless to stop it. He tried, to be certain, but in his dream he was always wounded, and couldn't seem to move his legs, or to lift his sword. He saw Crispian cut in two by the Mountain, Galtry peppered by arrows, and many more horrors each night, and awoke each morning sweating and more tired than when he had gone to sleep.

He could hear the whinny of horses outside his window, the ringing of steel on steel, the sounds of footsteps, laughter, and conversation, and the calls of birds. The castle was awake, and he was surrounded by others, but he had never felt more alone.

He did however find solace in his bow. It had been given to him by Lord Commander Osgood Hammersmith, or as his men called him, the Hammer. He ran his hands along the weathered wood. It had the Dothraki recurve design, which added extra power, range, and accuracy than the Westerosi longbow, and was smaller and could be fired on horseback as a bonus. Iagan imagined most of Westeros would've adopted it had it not been for its incredible difficulty to produce. The men who made them each had personal styles and preferences that made their bows such pieces of art and such fantastic tools, and they guarded their secrets jealously. He had darkened his bow with charcoal to help camouflage itself, and it had long since worked its way into the grain of the wood. He stood, doing his best to place weight on his bad leg to help strengthen it again. He relished stringing the bow, feeling the familiar tension in the wood and finding his old grip.

It was however already midmorning, and since Margaery had fulfilled her side of the bargain, he had to fulfill his side. He strapped on his armor, leaving the helmet and shield in his quarters. They would be unnecessary today. He pulled his bow over his shoulder and grabbed the quiver of arrows before leaving the stone walls of his chamber and slowly making his way down to the courtyard. His armor's weight was a burden for him, and his injuries made it difficult, but he managed to reach the courtyard without falling or succumbing to his injuries, though he was out of breath. He silently berated his own weakness as he scanned the courtyard for any sign of Margaery. It appeared she was absent.

To his left, a group of men-at-arms were shooting at a small target, apparently wagering on their archery skills, though if he had his choice he wouldn't dare make the bet if he was in their place. Their shooting was adequate, he supposed, for men-at-arms, but they could barely hit the target from a hundred paces.

_Perhaps I'll have a little fun with them._ He chuckled to himself, approaching them. They regarded him with suspicion and caution, as well as a look of contempt from one particularly large man. He was used to this though. He had grown up with men looking at him like this as a bastard, and his unassuming frame combined with his Ranger equipment like his foreign bow and strange cloak often made him a bit of an oddity.

"Looking for someone stranger?" A fat Tyrell bowman asked.

"No one in particular. I saw you were shooting though. Wagering?"

"That we were" the tall one said, narrowing his eyes at Iagan "what's it to you?" He asked bluntly.

"I was wondering if you would care to make a bet?"

"I'm listening" the tall one said, taking off his steel helmet and placing it under his arm, twirling the base of his longbow in the dirt absentmindedly. _Tut Tut. _Iagan thought. _That won't do. Grinding that in the dirt will distort the bow. _He remembered. Any Ranger who mistreated his bow was often severely punished in training. They were taught their bows were their lives. To mistreat your bow was to mistreat yourself.

"I'll bet you five dragons that I can shoot better from two hundred paces than you can from one hundred." He said confidently. The man laughed, his companion's eyes widening in shock.

"Five dragons huh? Seems a bit unfair to take coin like that from a boy like you, 'specially since you seem hurt, and what with a bow like that." He said, and his companions laughed behind him, taunting him. Iagan was used to it though.

"Well then you don't have anything to worry about do you?" He asked. And the man glared at him.

"Fine, if you're that dedicated to losing five dragons I'll take your wager. I shoot first". He said, grabbing his bow and marching to the line. He knocked an arrow and loosed. It was a good shot to be sure, hitting the bullseye, but Iagan silently corrected the man's sloppy form. _Pity. He'd be such a better shot if he just learned to shoot right. _He thought, before limping to his own place. The Tyrell archers laughed as he limped, taunting him and asking if he'd rather hand over the coin now rather than hurt himself. He remained focused.

He unslung his bow, grabbing an arrow from his quiver. He knocked the arrow smoothly on the drawback as he had been taught, pulling the bow to full draw. He felt the familiar tension in the wood as he went through his mental checklist as he had been taught. In less than a second, he checked the wind direction and speed, steadied his breathing, adjusted his stance, and took aim, loosing his arrow, which slammed into the target dead center.

The men were silent as he walked over collecting his winnings. The tall archer's face was red with rage.

"You cheated me!" He shouted angrily.

"Cheated? How so? I did exactly as we agreed." He replied calmly, resisting the urge to punch the man.

"You swindled me! You faked that injury and tricked me into thinking you were weak!"

"I can assure you, the wound is very real, and anyways, that's your own stupidity for assuming." He replied scathingly. The man's face became bright red, as the men behind him laughed at him. A vein in his neck bulged, Iagan could tell the man was furious. He turned to walk away, taking two steps before hearing the man follow him, rushing towards him.

Iagan reacted instantly, his hand grabbing the man's wrist and forcing the knife from his hands. Even in his wounded state, he could still manage to fight well, and his training took over. He punched the man in the gut, and the man doubled over, before taking a knee to his face, sending him reeling backward clutching his face as blood streamed out from his nose. Iagan drove him back towards the stables, pinning him up against the wood, a knife at the man's throat, before slowly stepping away, aware of the number of other Tyrell men who now surrounded him.

Behind him, he saw Margaery approaching quickly, doing her best to move between the men at arms and calm them. The tall man shouted to her.

"Lady Margaery! Have this man arrested! He cheated me in a wager and then attacked me!"

"Oh be quiet Walton." She told him. "I saw it all. You came up behind him with a knife after he beat you, and you should've known not to bet in an archery contest against a Ranger."

"Ranger?" The tall man, Walton, stammered, staring at Iagan. Iagan gave him a sly grin, giving him an almost imperceptible nod. The man's eyes widened in fear. Iagan knew the myths the small folk told of the Rangers, that they were ghosts, or demons, or simply gods among men, unsurpassed in their art. The Ranger's actively encouraged these myths, even doing their utmost to recover their dead and disappear without a trace after their strikes.

"Well, what are you all staring at? Nothing to see here. Get back to work!" Margaery said, dispersing the crowd. Iagan walked away, towards Margaery. However, he spun rapidly, dropping to one knee and loosing four arrows in rapid succession before the first one made contact with the wood. The arrows stuck mere centimeters from the man's face, and he yelped in fear and surprise before scurrying off.

He retrieved his arrows from the wood and approached Margaery, who watched him with the slightest smile on her face, her brown eyes twinkling.

"Show off."

"How much did you see?" He asked.

"All of it. Though it really isn't quite fair of you to take their money like that. Though it was impressive." She scolded..

"Have I offended the lady?" He gave a mock bow. " My apologies, but I must keep up the Ranger myth somehow." He told her.

"Was it ever truly in doubt? At that range? You were that sure you would win?"

"My lady," he smiled "at that Range I couldn't miss. Two hundred paces is nothing" he told her confidently.

"Well in that case, do refrain from simply showing off, give them at least a chance." She told him.

"As the lady wishes" he bowed.

"It's Margaery."

"As you wish Lady Margaery" he gave her a mischievous grin.

"Were the four arrows really necessary by the way? You nearly killed him. And I'm certain he'll have to change his britches after this." She laughed.

"He was completely safe. Besides, did you see the look on his face?" He laughed nonchalantly, placing his bow over his back once more. "Lesson number one, the first shot may win the first battle, but if you scare them enough, you win every battle to come." He told her, and she gave a small smile again, understanding.

_Maerisa_

"Walder Frey is planning what?!" She said, shocked at what Robb had just told her.

"You heard me. He plans to kill us all tonight."

"No. No he couldn't. He's a prideful man but this? No. He wouldn't dare. It goes against every law of the gods and man."

"True, but he plans it anyway. I received a rider from Riverrun last night bearing the very letter which demonstrates his guilt, and Roose Bolton's to boot. All orchestrated by Tywin Lannister. The man is more snake than lion." Robb said angrily.

"Well what will you do?" She asked him, tucking her hair back.

"Perhaps we'll surprise him tonight. We'll give him more than he bargained for. Now that we know his plans we can preempt it. We'll set a trap of our own." He told her grimly. She knew he hated to do this. Daggers in the night and plots were not Robb's preference, he much rather preferred open conflict, as did she, and she knew he was uneasy with his own plans.

"How can I help?"

"You can get as far away from here as possible. I've already sent Talisa back to Winterfell, I want you to accompany her there. I won't be putting you in harms way. I'll need your uncle to stay here though."

"What? No!" She said surprised. "I can't just leave you here to gods know what Walder Frey has planned. What if something goes wrong?" She demanded.

"Then I'll die knowing you and Talisa are safe." He told her. "I won't endanger innocent lives."

"Robb, I need to stay here. I can't leave now." She told him seriously. "I can't leave you to this alone. You need a friend here. Besides, if I wasn't present Walder would sense something was amiss." Robb listened, the realization dawning on him. A dark look came over his face, and he knotted his eyebrows in frustration, turning back to the map of Westeros in his command tent. He slammed his fist on the table angrily, running his hand through his hair in frustration and sighing.

"Gods! I'm the King who nearly lost the North. I've won every battle and nearly lost the war tonight, and I still might. And I can't even keep you safe from harm!" He said angrily.

"Robb, I promise you, I'm here because I want to be here. I refuse to let you face this alone. I need to be here." She told him, placing a hand on his back, feeling him tense at her touch, before finally giving in.

"Fine. Stay, but you must do exactly as I say. I won't have you in any more danger than absolutely necessary." He said, exasperated.

"Robb, there's something else I need to talk to you about" she told him. "About Theon." He looked up, raising his eyebrow in surprise.

"Theon? What of him?"

"Last night we... Well..." He cut her off.

"You didn't..." He trailed off, and she shook her head, explaining what had happened.

"And he stormed off afterwards" she concluded after telling Robb all that had transpired.

"Look, Maerisa, Theon's a good man, but you know your families' history, there's bad blood between your two houses. I can't speak for him. You have to talk to him." She sighed, exasperated. Robb patted her on the back, chuckling to himself.

"Of all the men here in this camp, you had to choose the one whose family has hated yours from the days of the first men." He laughed, and she did her best to smile.

"It's just, I really did think I felt something special there. Maybe I was wrong."

"Maerisa," he paused thinking "when you feel it, you feel it. Talk to him. If it's meant to be it's meant to be. I get your hurt and that he's angry, and I can't promise you it will work, but you have to talk to him." She smiled sadly, thanking Robb, giving him a warm hug. Over the last few days he had grown to be like an older brother to her, and she appreciated it.

She left his tent, moving through the camp, trying to find Theon. After a bit of searching, she found him in his tent, packing his bags.

"What are you doing?" She asked, surprising him as he placed his cloak in his chest.

"I'll be leaving soon. Robb wants me to go home to win him my father's support." He replied, not looking up as he packed.

"That's it? You're just going to leave? You're just going to run off?" She questioned.

"It's not like that." He explained.

"Oh isn't it? Then what is it? Too scared to stick with Robb through it?" He paused, and she saw him tense with anger. After a moment, he seemed to calm himself.

"Do not ever dare to question my own dedication to Robb." He spat, turning to her, a fury in his eyes, like a great storm was raging behind them. She took a step back, shocked by the fury and anger he contained.

"So are we simply not going to ever talk about what happened?" She said after a long pause once he had collected himself, as he brushed that stray hair back into place.

"There's nothing to talk about Fadyn."

"Fadyn. Greyjoy. Are we really going to pretend it never happened? That we dislike each other so?" She demanded, approaching him.

"Pretend it never happened?" He repeated, turning the words over. "There. Is. Nothing. To. Talk. About." He told her. "It can't work. My father would disown me for even speaking to a Fadyn, let alone..." He trailed off, becoming angry again and going silent.

"Let alone what? Loving one?!" She said, furious. She saw him hesitate for a moment. The slightest pause.

"Don't say that. That's not what this is. This was a mistake!" He said, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration. "Just a mistake! Don't try to imply it was anything more than that!" He shouted angrily. She paused for a moment, trying to take in what he had just said. She fought back tears in her eyes.

"Theon..." She pleaded.

"Don't call me that. Don't say my name." He told her quietly, his voice hard.

"Don't do this." She begged. He turned his back, returning to his work. "Please. I know I felt something, and you did too! Please! Don't do this to me! To yourself. I know I wasn't wrong! Tell me you felt something too!" She felt the tears welling in her eyes. He was quiet for a moment as she waited for his answer, desperate to know.

"I think..." He paused for a moment. "I think you should go."

"Coward!" She screamed, a stray tear running down her face. "Are you really so desperate to be accepted by a father who has made no attempt to love you or associate with you? Will you really throw this away? For that? Are you that terrified of your feelings?"

"There are no feelings here!" He shouted.

"You're not the man I thought you were."

"No. And therein lies the problem." He told her coldly, composing himself. _There was that Greyjoy wit of his_, she thought sadly. She shook her head, wiping the tears from her eyes. She would not let him see her cry, not let him know the hurt he caused. She turned, exiting the tent and making her way back to her own pavilion, before throwing herself onto her bed. She felt the tears running down her face, tasting the salt as she wept, a sob wracking her body, crying into her pillow. She heard someone enter the tent. She felt a hand placed on her shoulder, trying to sooth her.

"Calm yourself dear. We have a long night ahead of us." Her Uncle Scipio told her as she cried.

_Later that night_

The night had gone surprisingly well so far. She had sat quietly at her end of the table next to her uncle. She had danced with Stevron and Olyvar Frey, both whom served Robb, as well as a few other lords of note. She had been informed of the plan numerous times. Robb was aware of the details of the attack, and was thus able to counter every eventuality. He carried himself surprisingly well, considering at any minute he could be stabbed through the heart or peppered with arrows if something went wrong. He acted as though nothing was wrong, and displayed complete and total confidence and a degree of naivety. Would that she could be so naive. She and Theon had kept their distance the entire night, sitting at opposite ends of the table. Occasionally, they would exchange an icy glare.

"Something wrong?" Robb asked, his eyes immediately checking either side.

"No, no, it's not that. Things didn't exactly go well between Theon and I." She confessed.

"Perhaps it wasn't meant to be then." He told her. Either way, it didn't make her feel any better. The wedding was in full swing, and she could feel the climax building to the bedding, when she knew all the cards would be played. She only hoped that Robb knew what he was doing. Men drank and cheered, although she noticed many Northern Lords seemed to abstain from their drink, or drink slightly less than usual in the case of the Greatjon. Her own Uncle looked to the balcony every few minutes, seeming to check the band. Walder Frey sat contently on his seat, watching with a sinister look in his eye as the feast proceeded.

Soon, she heard the dreaded song that she knew would set the entire plot in motion. This was the moment where the fate of her life, the war, and Westeros would be decided. The Rains of Castamere drifted somberly through the great hall, echoing off the vaulted ceiling and bouncing off age old stone. Even the candles and torches seemed to flicker and wither as the song cast a gloomy tone over an otherwise pleasant evening. Walder rose his hand, quieting the great hall, and all eyes turned to him.

"Robb Stark," he began, and Robb stood, giving him a polite nod of his head. In the other corner of the room, Roose Bolton stood, moving towards Robb. The Greatjon and Patrek Mallister rose, intercepting him, the Greatjon acting very drunk and leaning on him, preventing him from approaching.

"My lord." Robb said politely.

"My lord." Walder Frey scoffed. "It appears even a king can be humble. It's good to remember the humble places we come from. It helps us to remember even kings are not above the rest of us, that they cannot scorn us."

"Indeed." Robb replied. "Especially since I have wronged you so."

"Yes well, the past is behind us I suppose" Walder said, standing despite his gout. "The words of my house are 'We take our tolls'. When you brought an army here, we had a deal. That one of my daughters would marry you. But you broke our bargain. You broke your oath, and proved disloyal. But all is well. One oath for another. We have a new toll, and now we have a new marriage to celebrate, and certain victory to come" he said, an angry tone in his voice. The Rains of Castamere was nearing its close, drifting lazily through the air. "And personally," he added "I would love for the festivities to begin." He shouted, slamming his fist on the table. Freys lept to their feet, before being met with swords and daggers at their throats. A volley of arrows slammed down the length of the table, causing the Freys to jump in surprise, each arrow embedding itself in the wood. The northern lords had beaten the Freys to the draw. An arrow slammed into the back of Walder Frey's seat, mere inches from him, and he yelped in surprise and Robb drew a long dagger, nearly eighteen inches, concealed in his boot.

"I agree." He said, looking around the room. "Some festivities would certainly be welcome." He said, his tone friendly but his grey eyes boring into Walder Frey. "Lord Frey, you've spoken of honor, and oaths, and loyalty. Yet here we stand. You would betray your lord, kill your king, all because of a personal slight not meant to offend, but merely to maintain a decent woman's honor. You, Walder Frey, who speak of the sanctity of oaths made before the gods, but who conspire to violate guest right and kill those who were under your roof, and under your protection. You, Walder Frey, who had the audacity to speak of betrayal, and yet plot to kill me, my mother, my wife, and my banner men." Robb shouted, approaching Walder, his dagger directed at Walder.

"I" he stammered, his eyes fixated on the blade mere feet from him ,"I don't understand... The wine... The weapons... The band" he stammered nervously.

"I know all about your plot." Robb began, not dropping his sword down for a moment. "I know you strengthened the wine you had served to us, I know the band was in fact a band of mercenaries who planned to unleash crossbows on us, I know all about the hidden weapons and armor. You've failed. My Rangers killed the mercenaries and replaced them" he said, gesturing to the cloaked, hooded figures who stood on the balcony, all with arrows knocked to their taut bows. "We switched the wine" he went on, detailing how in fact he had drugged the Frey's own wine, as well as encouraging each of his men to consume small doses of Bitterweed, which counteracted the alcohol's effects. As Robb went on, Walder's face paled, his look of satisfaction disappearing rapidly.

"But, but how?" He asked, at this point thoroughly confused.

"We intercepted a letter." Robb answered.

"My lord" Roose Bolton began, shoving past the Greatjon and Patrek and moving closer. "You should leave, its not safe here, I'll escort you. We must go."

"Restrain him" Robb ordered, and her uncle and Brynden Tully grabbed him, forcing him to the floor.

"My lord what is going on?" Roose shouted angrily. "I demand you tell them to release me!" He yelled.

"King Robb" Walder Frey said, standing to his feet before stumbling to the ground at Robb's feet. "I beg you! Forgive me! It wasn't my fault" he groveled. "It was the Lannisters, and Bolton! I swear it wasn't my idea! It was Bolton's! Yes! Bolton's! It was all his fault! His idea! I swear I'll be loyal! I beg of you! Forgive me!" He begged.

"I did no such thing! My King! I have no idea what he is talking about! Believe me! I have served you faithfully! Do not believe such lies!" Roose shouted.

"Oh shut up the both of you!" Robb said, silencing them. "Roose. I know all about this scheme. Rest assured, I shall not take this lightly." He promised, his eyes cold and furious. Then he turned to the hall. "Men! I know you have served the Freys! But now you see Lord Walder for what he truly is! Just a snake. I give you this one chance to prove your loyalty. Drop your weapons now, leave this hall, and I shall forgive you. Swear fealty to me, and serve me faithfully, and I shall forget your complicity in this incident." He said, addressing the Frey bannermen. Many of the knights and lords sworn to the Freys dropped their weapons quickly, exiting the hall, leaving only a few Freys who were pinned against the wall, their hands in the air and their weapons confiscated. Among the men guarding the Frey prisoners were Robb's own squires, Olyvar and Stevron Frey. They had chosen to stay loyal to him, and hadn't known of their father's plot. Walder Frey began to cackle maniacally, a knowing grin spreading across his face.

"And what is so funny my lord?" Robb asked, and Walder laughed.

"You may live!" He spat. "But your army will die. My men have orders to kill yours, they did not need an order from me, and it has already begun. Listen!" He said, satisfied. " You'll never escape here alive!"

"I hear nothing Lord Walder. In fact, I believe I hear the sounds of fellowship and revelry. I hear men laughing and drinking. Listen for yourself. There will be no slaughter tonight. Your son generously told your captains to stand down. There is peace. My Rangers killed those who chose to continue the plot already." The color drained from Walder's face once more, and his satisfied smirk was wiped from his face. He glared at Olyvar.

"Take them to the dungeons." Robb ordered, and Roose Bolton and the Freys were dragged from the room.

"Do you know what you've done? Traitors! Bastards!" Walder screamed at his sons as he was dragged from the room. "You'll burn in the worst circle of the seven hells for this! The gods despise a kinslayer!" He shouted, his voice echoing down the halls as he was taken away.

"Not as much as they despise an Oathbreaker." Robb said quietly, and it was over.

"Olyvar, Stevron, we shall talk on the morrow. There has been enough strife for one night." He said.


	12. Chapter 11

_Author's Note: Hey guys, apologies for the delay between updates, I've been incredibly busy lately and simply haven't had time to write. Anyways here's chapter eleven, apologies that it's short, I figured I would get you guys an update ASAP just so you all know that I haven't stopped writing. I hope you enjoy it, please continue to read and review, it means a lot. I hope to update again soon . As always let me know if you like it and what you think of the characters, whether you like or hate them! Enjoy!_

_Tywin_

"He's done what?!" He asked, incredulous. The messenger glanced to his feet, seemingly terrified of Tywin's wrath.

"He knew of the plan my lord. He knew. He and his men were ready. They attacked Lords Frey and Bolton. They've been imprisoned by the Stark boy."

Tywin slammed his fists on the table in frustration.

"How?" He thundered. "Clegane killed them all! He said so himself!"

"Apparently not." The messenger mumbled.

"Any news of Jaime?"

"No my lord. Lord Bolton sent him south with Brienne of Tarth, but he hasn't been seen or heard from since. I would presume he will arrive in King's Landing within a week."

That was the last straw. "I don't ask for your presumptions! Get out of my sight!" Tywin demanded, furious, and the messenger scurried off.

He stood, doing his best to regain his composure and avoid flipping the table in front of him. He absolutely seethed with rage. If only his son Jaime was here. He would've never failed him. Jaime would've made sure that letter never reached Robb Stark. Now the entire war plan was in shambles. He surveyed the map before him. His own host was located at Harrenhall, but Robb Stark's army was stationed at the Twins, Walder Frey hadn't even made a dent in it. It may have been weakened by the loss of Roose Bolton, an experienced commander, but Robb had proven a skilled commander already, defeating his own son by some miracle. The boy had a certain degree of flair to him, calling himself the young Wolf. It was presumptuous. Infuriating even. And Stannis' army was still unaccounted for. That man was a true pain in his ass. He had sent another round of ravens to the lords of Westeros, repeating the disgusting rumors about his children and giving his own claim to the throne again. As much as he loathed to admit it, he may have need of Tyrion, but he had been dispatched to King's Landing already to manage things, since Cersei had already proven herself completely incompetent and unable to control his fool of a grandson. _I'll have to have a discussion with him when I return to set him straight. _He thought.

Studying the map, he realized how dire things truly were. He was outnumbered, his forces spread thin already. They Tyrells had promised him aid, but they apparently were still marshaling their hopes, and had left the capital. He had received no word on their return yet. _Cersei should've never let them leave. Her judgement is clouded by her own ambition. _ The Tyrells had slipped through his fingers, and there was no telling how they would react to the latest debacle. They were unpredictable. And that made them dangerous. At least he knew what Stannis and Robb would do. The Tyrells were dangerous.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in" he declared, not looking up from his maps.

"I came as soon as I heard brother." Kevan. Perhaps he was someone he could count on, in this sea of incompetence.

"You didn't really-" he began, before Tywin cut him off.

"I did." He replied curtly.

"But it's-"

"I did what I had to do. To protect the family. Our family. Is killing a dozen men at dinner worse that twelve thousand on the battlefield?"

"So you did it to save lives?" Kevan questioned, skeptical.

"No." Tywin responded bluntly. "I did it to win us this damn war. Robb Stark has a host nearly twenty thousand strong. Behind him he has the whole of the North, the Fadyns and their damned rangers, and anyone in the Riverlands we haven't destroyed yet. He poses perhaps the greatest threat to us, and alienated his vassals. It was a golden opportunity. I took it."

"And you didn't feel the need to consult me?" Kevan asked, furious.

"No. As I said it was for the good of the family. You didn't need to know."

"I didn't need to know?" He repeated, incredulous. "I didn't need to know? Seven Hells! And what should I tell our allies when they ask? When they are outraged by the disrespect you've shown to the gods? Robb Stark has sent ravens to every noble house, informing them of this! You think the peasants will accept this attempt? They already hail him as the bloody savior, no thanks to that damned ogre you have parading around the Riverlands, burning everything in his wake and calling himself a knight! They way we're keeping up, we'll face another damned rebellion on our hands."

Tywin faltered for a moment. His brother had never spoken to him like this before. His baby brother. His loyal brother, always obedient, always agreeable. His staunchest support. His calm, composed, cunning demeanor was compromised for a moment, and for once he was at a loss for words.

"All I need do is send a bard with a harp-" he began, doing his best to hide is concern and reassert his confident demeanor.

"Yes, yes the blasted song." Kevan waved his hand dismissively. "It's past that point Tywin! We're at war. You think a few minstrels are going to set everything back in line? That you can scare them into submission again? Scare them with what? The Lannister wealth? It's all but gone, and we're seven kingdoms in debt to the iron bank, and the gold mines are running dry. Our vast army? Our cunning strategy? The army is in ruins. They're exhausted, demoralized, and weakened. The young wolf has us on our heels, fleeing like deer before him. We abandoned Harrenhall, and have been marching south ever since. You think that looks like victory? And don't think this latest stunt won't take its toll on their loyalty to you. You've gone to far this time." Kevan warned.

"Everything I've done, I've done to protect the family!" Tywin shouted, his fury finally getting the better of him. Kevan stepped back, startled. _Good. At least he still knows who is in command here._ He thought. Kevan quickly recomposed himself, glaring angrily at Tywin.

"It's my family too, and right now you're running us into the ground." He warned, before dismissing himself, slamming the door behind him, and leaving Tywin with his maps to discern master stroke to reverse the tide of the war.

_Maerisa_

The morning after the wedding was eerily calm. Frey troops milled about, surrounded by the Northern army. Rangers patrolled the battlements of the twins, nodding politely as she passed, rushing to the hall. Robb had called his council to discuss what to do with the traitors. As her Uncle was busy overseeing the men and doing his best to contain the Frey levies with the help of Olyvar Frey. The Bolton men for their part had disappeared during the night once it became apparent something had gone wrong. Robb was sorely irritated with the loss of men, but given the circumstances, he acknowledged it was superior to the alternative.

As she entered the great hall, the remnants of last night's treachery were still strewn about. Although the bodies had been removed, blood still remained in the cracks between the stones and the air still reeked of fear and death, tables and benches remained strewn about, save the one long table in the center, where a majority of Robb's bannermen sat. Roose Bolton was obviously absent, along with Lord Glover who had sustained a serious wound to his stomach during the fight, and was currently resting.

Lords Umber, Bracken, and Piper conversed quietly in the corner, discussing the night's events. Lord Tallhart sat quietly at his seat, sipping a cup of wine dejectedly. It had been his duty to remain behind with Walder Frey and prevent any treachery, and he had failed. Robb had assured him it was not his fault, but he was a noble man, and he took his failure with difficulty. A number of other lords milled about, waiting for the session to begin. Stevron Frey paced quietly, and the other lords repeatedly cast him suspicious glances. He never met them, but it was clear that his father's treachery had strained his relations with the other lords, and he remained isolated.

Maerisa brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, taking her seat. Robb sat on Lord Walder's seat, thinking quietly to himself and watching his bannermen. Finally, he called them to her seats. Marq Piper sat to her left, and Stevron Frey to his place at her right. His eyes were red and raw, and he looked absolutely exhausted. He met her gaze for a moment, and she smiled reassuringly to him. He was a good man, and a loyal ally to Robb. She knew he had played no part in it, but he still felt guilty, and the other lord's rejection of him was difficult. He did his best to return the smile, and then turned his attention to Robb.

"Men," he began "my lady," he added, nodding politely at her "today we face a difficult decision. You all know of last night's treachery. I was just as horrified by it as yourselves, but I commend you all for your service and unwavering loyalty." He stated solemnly. She could tell, this was certainly a day where his crown weighed heavy upon his head.

"We face before us a difficult task." He continued, looking to each of his bannermen, as the doors opened, and Walder Frey and Roose Bolton were dragged before the council.

"These men have committed treason, for which the penalty is death. I have decided they each shall be allowed to speak in their defense." Roose Bolton was shoved forward. He fixed his glare upon Robb. He was an unsettling man, Maerisa decided. Even though he hadn't even glanced at her, his hate filled eyes made her squirm in her seat. He spat at Robb.

"Shall I take that as your response?" Robb asked.

"Do what you will with it boy!" Roose answered spitefully. "May the gods curse you till your dying day, and may you rot in the deepest pit of hell. Skip the damn formalities and get on with it." He demanded. "We all know what the end result is." A flash of anger crossed Robb's face, but he overcame it, nodding at Roose.

"My Lords!" Robb shouted over the hail of curses and profanities that were being shouted at Roose. The room quieted, the silence echoing through the halls of the Twins. "This man has betrayed you all as well. I ask you, what is to be done with him?" The response was overwhelming.

"Very well. I Robb Stark, first of that name, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North, hereby sentence you, Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, to death, for the crime of treason. All your lands, titles, and estates shall hereby be seized by the crown and revoked. May the gods grant you mercy." He declared, and the council was silent. The guard dragged him back. Walder Frey was brought in front of Robb, his feeble frame practically carried to him. She nearly felt pity for the old man.

In his current state, he looked absolutely pathetic. His nose dripped mucus, and he shook before Robb, who was currently sitting on Walder's old seat. His body was thin and weak, and she could see each of his bones. From his seat, it was never quite clear how frail Walder was, and how seriously the gout afflicted him. But here, grovelling on the floor before Robb, he now appeared as weak as he truly was.

"Lord Walder," Robb addressed him, glancing to Stevron Frey "you may speak in your defense" Robb stated, motioning for him to begin.

They Frey lord's smug demeanor from last night had disappeared. He threw himself at Robb's feet.

"Please your grace!" He begged. "Show mercy! It was the Lannisters! Yes, the Lannisters!" He pleaded, seemingly trying to convince himself. "They planned it all. Not me! Not me! Please!" He cried. Tears no flowed freely. "I beg of you. Spare my life! I'll do anything! Anything! It wasn't my fault! I'm not to blame!" Robb's gaze was steely and cold.

"Walder Frey. You are guilty of the crime of treason. You yourself plotted to kill me, my wife, and my bannermen, and swear fealty to the Lannisters. You yourself are guilty of the crime." Walder collapsed to the floor. Sobs raked his body, and he shuddered violently.

"No. No. Please no" he gasped.

"However," Robb added. "Your sons Stevron and Olyvar have proved loyal to overcame their family pressure and remained true, and for that I am grateful. It is out of respect for them, and only out of respect for them you sniveling, traitorous, wretch," he added hatefully "that I differ to them. Ser Stevron, what is to be done with your father?"

The entire room turned to Stevron Frey, who stood.

"Stevron! My boy! My beloved boy! You won't let them kill me! Save me! Tell him to show mercy!" Walder begged, looking desperately to his son. Stevron met his gaze for a moment, and then looked away.

"Your Grace," Stevron said, avoiding his father's gaze, turning to Robb and away from his father "My father is a vile, deceitful man. Never once, has he shown me any degree of love or compassion. He is cold, heartless, and manipulative. My father has committed treason. He has brought shame and dishonor to our family. He has betrayed your own trust, the trust of each of the men in this room, and my own trust. His treason is undeniable," he paused. The room held its breath, all except Walder, who continued beseeching his son for mercy.

_He's not really going to suggest the wall is he? At his age? It's certain death! He won't even survive the trip up. _Maerisa thought. Stevron took a breath, looking to his father, then back to Robb. He gathered himself, then continued.

"and the punishment for such treason is death." He finished. Everyone looked at Stevron in a state of shock. Walder screeched profanities, wailing.

"Damn you Stevron! Damn you! You've killed your own father! Bastard! Kinslayer! You're not my son! May you rot in the seven hells for eternity!" Walder shouted, his voice hoarse as he was dragged out of the hall.

"Very well. I, Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North, hereby declare Walder Frey, Lord of the Twins, guilty of Treason, the punishment for which is death. Upon his death, I declare all his lands, titles, and estates shall pass to his firstborn son and rightful heir, Ser Stevron Frey." Robb declared, as Roose and Walder were brought to the courtyard.

Roose Bolton was brought up first, struggling against his guards. Robb's sword was brought to him, a large greatsword, polished and razor sharp. Roose was forced against the chopping block, Stark guards holding him in place.

"Roose Bolton, I, Robb Stark," he began, and Maerisa turned away, having no desire to witness his death. She heard a loud 'thock' and then Roose's body was dragged away, now shorter by a head. Walder Frey was up next. She searched for Stevron, and found him standing behind Robb. She watched him as Robb declared the sentence and carried it out, his face cold and hard the entire time, unfaltering. And in an instant, the sentence was over. Walder was dragged away, and the lords slowly dispersed, leaving Maerisa, standing alone, gazing at the chopping block, now slick and sticky with blood. Robb approached.

"You understand why I did it." He stated. She nodded.

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword." She replied. And he smiled sadly.

"A teaching of my father's."

"Mine must've picked up on it from him." She added. "What now?" She inquired.

"Now we move on. I have good news for you." He said, trying to lighten the mood. She looked at him hopefully.

"Trysten?" She asked.

"I'm afraid not. On that front I'm as in the dark as you are." He shook his head sadly. "However, it does concern another sibling of yours. Iagan. They Tyrells have him."

"He's alive?!" Maerisa cried, thrilled at the good fortune.

"Indeed. He's wounded, but he'll live. It was he who discovered the plot. He reached the Tyrells and forced them to send a raven."

"But aren't they loyal to the Lannisters?" Maerisa asked, now confused.

"Apparently their allegiance is shifting. Right now they remain somewhat neutral, but it may be that soon they'll declare for me." Robb stated matter-of-factly.

"That's fantastic!" Maerisa said, jumping for joy, hugging Robb tightly. "Then perhaps this war may have an end in sight!" Robb grinned at her.

"I hope so." He said, somberly. "Too many good men are lost already. There is one other thing." He added.

"Oh?"

"The dispersion of lands. Your family has saved me on numerous occasions. Your father declared for me when no other Vale lord would. One brother has travelled all the way across the sea to gain me men, and the other risks life and limb carrying a message which saved my life, and prevented me from losing this war. Your uncle has served me loyally and faithfully as a commander. I owe your family a massive debt, and I am eternally grateful." He told her.

"We were just doing our duty." She told him, blushing.

"No. Your family has proved above and beyond loyal, and for that, I am nominating your Uncle as Roose Bolton's successor. He will be the new lord of the Dreadfort."


	13. Chapter 12

_Author's Note:_ _Hey folks! Thank you all so much for your kind reviews. I'm really glad you're all enjoying it. I figured I'd try to update sooner since the last one was shorter. Apologies if Lysa's POV is a little difficult to understand, I tried writing it in more of a stream of consciousness style to help portray her madness. Anyways, please let me know what you think of it, as well as the rest of the chapter as a whole. Here's chapter twelve, enjoy!_

_Iagan_

He had woken early this morning, desperate to hear any news of Robb's fate. A cool breeze wafted through the hall, rustling the ivy around the white marble column. He could hear the sounds of the castle waking. The sound of steel on steel echoed from the courtyard, as well as the hammering of a blacksmith outside the walls. He limped down the hall, his footsteps echoing down the marble corridors. His leg was healing, to be certain, but far to slowly for his liking. _The men need me, and I lounge about here while the war passes me by. _He thought angrily. He carefully made his way down the steps into the gardens, leaving the castle. It was a beautiful day. Clouds drifted lazily across the blue sky, and a calm breeze rustled the leaves of the huge trees around him. He sat down in a bench in the gardens, taking in the sounds of the outdoors, closing his eyes.

In moments he was in his perfect state, completely attuned to every aspect of his surroundings. This ability was what set Ranger's apart from common folk. Anyone could be taught to wield a bow or sword, and some even possessed the skills to travel without a trace, to disappear and move as ghosts, but few possessed the ability to become completely in tune with the wilderness, to sense the ebb and flow of life, to feel the forest live around them. He sighed with relief. His time in Highgarden hadn't cost him this skill.

He heard birds flitting from branch to branch, two squirrels fighting over territory above him, was aware of the bees gathering honey and pollen, the acute smells of roses and could hear the call of a falcon on the wind as it dove for its prey, and could smell the fear of the sparrow as the falcon closed in.

He suddenly became aware of another presence, moving quickly through the garden. A person. A woman. She was running through the garden, scanning for something. He opened his eyes. He couldn't see her yet, but knew she was close. He melted into the brush, assessing the situation. If Robb had been killed or captured, the Tyrell's might've decided to change sides once more. He waited back.

"Iagan! Iagan!" It was Margaery. She ran through the gardens, hiking her skirts up. He waited. Perhaps it was a ploy, or some ruse to convince him it was safe. He tuned back into his surroundings. There were no guards, he would've heard their armor clanking. No. It was safe.

He stepped out from the shadows. "Lady Margaery." He said politely, and she nearly jumped in fright before whipping around.

"Seven Hells Iagan! How many times have I told you not to do that! God's I didn't even know you were there. I don't know how you Rangers disappear like that!" She scolded him angrily.

He gave her a mischievous grin and a mock bow. "One of my many talents. My sincerest apologies my lady." He gave a mock bow, and she did her best to hide a smile behind her hand, before composing herself.

"I'm glad I found you." She admitted to him sitting down on a stone bench among the roses.

"Glad? Why?" He asked, sitting down next to her.

"I was worried." She answered, doing her best not to meet his gaze as he chuckled.

"Worried? For me? But I'm the mighty Iagan Fadyn, able to disappear at will!" He said sarcastically.

"Oh, stop it," she said, doing her best to glower at him. "I visited your room this morning. You weren't there. I thought maybe you had heard the news and left to go back to fight..."

"And why shouldn't I?" He prodded.

"You know for someone as calculating as you, you can be incredibly dense."

"I take great pride in it." He joked.

She rolled her eyes, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "You shouldn't" she continued "because you can still hardly walk without a limp." She told him, gesturing to his walking stick.

His heart sank. "Oh." Not the answer he had been hoping for.

"Also," she continued, her brown eyes flashing with amusement "we had a deal." She smiled, and he felt his spirits lift.

"Right, our deal. I had nearly forgotten. Well, let's get to work." He said, suddenly eager to begin training, and moved to stand with a great deal of effort.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait." She said, forcing him back onto the bench.

"What?" He asked.

"We don't need to begin right now. I haven't even told you the news yet."

"News? What news?"

"The news I just mentioned?" She asked expectantly, waiting for him to understand. "The news that would've brought you back to the war?" She continued.

"Ah! That news!" He exclaimed. He had nearly forgotten. To go back to the war. If it was important enough to drag him back into the fight it must be serious.

"I'm afraid it's incredibly serious." Margaery began as if she was reading his mind, her deep brown eyes boring into his own green gold. His heart stopped.

"At the wedding... Robb... He..." She paused, as if searching for words. Iagan leaned in, hanging on her every word.

"He surprised Walder Frey, he turned his own trap on him." Margaery told him, her flawless face completely solemn and somber.

"Gods. That's horrible, that's terrible. What will we do now-" He began. His heart dropped. He'd been expecting this news. Iagan stammered. He knew it. _Robb's dead. His army's scattered. Wait. What? _

"What?" He asked in surprise. "What did you say?" Margaery suddenly burst out laughing, her face no longer able to contain her mirth.

"Gods Iagan you should've seen your face!" She laughed, clapping her hands in amusement. "You totally believed it!" She giggled.

"Not funny." He told her. Iagan crossed his arms in front of him, doing his best to be angry with her. She had completely sold him. Her face, her tone, her body language, it was all perfect. Her smile and laugh were infectious though. Soon, he was laughing with her. Just for a moment, Margaery seemed like a normal girl his own age again, not some highborn lady, mastering court politics and masterminding schemes. Finally, after they both calmed down, Iagan spoke.

"So Robb he's-"

"He's absolutely fine. He turned Walder Frey's own trap back on him. He's executed lord Walder and Lord Bolton, and sent Raven's to all the lords of Westeros informing him of Tywin's treachery. We just received it today." She said.

"Oh Margaery that's fantastic!" He said, hugging her, hardly able to contain his relief. Robb was alive! His message had reached him! His men hadn't died for nothing! A thousand thoughts raced through Iagan's mind.

"Umm... Iagan?" Margaery mumbled. He was still hugging her. That processed for a moment, before his mind registered what was going on. He was still hugging her! He quickly released her, his face red with embarrassment. He was a bastard, he shouldn't have been touching her. He was beneath her. His father may have unofficially legitimized him, giving him the Fadyn name, instead of Stone, raising him as a trueborn son, but most Lords disregarded that. Unless it was by a royal decree, all it meant was that he shared his father's name.

She withdrew, smoothing her dress and fixing her hair before speaking again.

"What's more, Robb made your uncle Scipio Lord of the Dreadfort. And legitimized you for your service to him." She let that sink in, and watched his reaction.

He kept his face expressionless, determined not to show any emotion, any sign of weakness. His whole life he'd felt like he was less because he was a bastard. His entire life he had felt like an outsider. In the span of a day, it had all changed. Robb had legitimized him. A royal decree. He could inherit. No longer would Lords look down on him and call him bastard or Iagan Stone behind his back. No longer would he feel like he was less than the other nobles.

"That's wonderful." He said calmly. "Any other news?" He questioned Margaery.

"There's been a rebellion in the west. The smallfolk heard of the plot and are calling for Tywin's head." She told him. "House Tyrell means to declare for Robb. It won't do to associate with the Lannisters any longer, and Stannis loathes us ever since my father besieged him." She added. "But enough of the war. You promised me we would train." She flashed one of her perfect smiles at him, and he couldn't resist.

"Well then. Let's go." He said, taking her by the hand and helping her to her feet.

"After you." She said, following him.

_Lysa_

Petyr was coming. She could hardly contain her excitement. Her beloved Petyr. Good, kind, loving Petyr. He was coming. Soon they would be together, finally without anyone between them. She was practically skipping through the halls. She hadn't felt like this since she was a girl.

"Mother?" Robin tugged at her skirts.

"Yes dear?"

"Who is Petyr?" He asked, innocently. Oh Robin. Her darling boy.

"An old friend." She told him. "He'll protect us. He's always protected us."

"How?" Robin asked. For an instant, she was angry. How? HOW? What a stupid question. How would Petyr protect them? She laughed at the thought. He was Petyr. He always had a plan, always had some trick up his sleeve. Perhaps he would help her deal with the Fadyns.

The Fadyns. Gods she loathed them. They would bring war to her front door. If war came to the vale what would become of them? What would happen to Robin? To her? The Fadyns would drag the whole region into war. They endangered her darling boy. Her light. Her Robin.

She couldn't let that happen. Petyr couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't. Not Petyr. Not her Petyr. No. He would make them pay. Make them all pay. He would know what to do. He always did.

The Fadyns were leaderless. Trysten had left for Volantis, but he wouldn't be returning. She smiled at the thought. Petyr had made certain of that. Once she had learned he was sailing for Volantis, she had sent ravens to Petyr. He had assured her the problem would be dealt with. That Trysten would meet some terrible misfortune on the high seas, his ship attacked by pirates. And then she would never have to deal with the boy again. He was the true threat, and now he was gone. Poof! She giggled happily.

"Mother?" Robin asked again, and she started. She had forgotten he was there.

"Have no fear my sweet." She assured him. "Petyr always know's what to do. He's gotten us this far." She smiled.

"My lady!" It was Ser Nycolas, one of her knights. He was a large man, a loyal man. He was loyal to her. To her Robin.

"Ser Nycolas" she greeted him. "What news?"

"Urgent my lady. Robb Stark and your sister were nearly killed at the Twins, at your brother's wedding. He says Walder Frey and Roose Bolton conspired with Tywin Lannister to kill him at the wedding. He's made Scipio Fadyn lord of the Dreadfort." Ser Nycolas reported, brushing his long brown locks aside.

Her brother? Nearly killed? Little Edmure. How was he getting married already? Why he was only a boy. She remembered seeing him playing in the stream with Cat. Laughing and splashing. And Petyr was there, her Petyr. He laughed and splashed in the stream too. And Cat? Why, if she had been killed, good riddance. She had always rejected her, she always thought she was so much better. She was always the pretty one. She had taken her Petyr from her. She had torn him apart, her brute betrothed had nearly killed Petyr, and Cat had just watched. She had endangered her love. And now she did it again, her son bringing war to the kingdom. They would doom them all. They had to be stopped. Tywin would kill them all. He would hurt Robin. He would hurt Petyr. Cat didn't love Petyr like she did. She didn't deserve him. But now Petyr was hers. All hers. And Petyr would know what to do. Petyr would protect her.

_Trysten_

Each he awoke at the crack of dawn with the other slaves. He readied Afzal's bath and took his letters, fetching the disgusting scented oils Afzal liked to coat himself in, as if they could hide his stench. He watched as his men were prodded down to the mines like cattle, forced to dig out rocks with no food as the fat slob gorged himself on pork and wine.

Trysten hated him. The man even had the gall to wear Dawnbringer at his side, taunting him with it.

"Fine blade boy. Thank you for bringing it to me." He snickered, patting the sheath. Each day, Trysten resisted the urge to strangle the man, but Fiorenzo always stood waiting, behind the desk. Trysten would look to him, begging his permission. Fiorenzo would shake his head, and he and Trysten would converse silently.

_Not today. _His eyes would say. _Not now. His death will come in time. But not today. Not this moment. _

_The man deserves to die! He's scum._

_All men must die. He shall too. But all men have a time. It is not his time._

_He tortures us. He taunts us. Let me kill him!_

_And do what? The masters will kill you, and probably the rest of us. Would you doom us all? You've already seen, the others aren't ready to rebel._

_Then what? We wait? Live out our days in servitude to this man? Waste away?_

_All men must serve. _

Early one morning, Afzal decided to go to the market. As Ser Daven and three other men carried his litter down the street, Trysten walked ahead. The smell of Meereen was horrendous. It smelled like some disgusting combination of shit, death, and perfume. Trysten's feet ached from the walk, the hard sand and cobblestone roads grinding beneath his feet. On occasion he would have to watch his step to avoid treading on broken pottery, or avoid slipping on spilt wine or blood. He could only imagine what it was like for Afzal, sitting comfortably on his silk cushions, secluded from the horrors of the city.

They passed an alleyway, where young children, barely clothed, played in puddles and kicked a ball. It made him smile, for the first time since he had been taken here. It reminded him of home. Even here, in the shadow of the harpy children still played, oblivious to the toils of the world around them.

They passed through the Bazaar. Around them, merchants shouted their wares. He reeled at the smells coming from one booth, a barrage of odors, stemming from a variety of perfumes, overwhelming him. Stalls were crammed with different products, some selling colorful pottery or vases, others proudly displaying multicolored rugs and fabrics, waving lazily in the breeze. Other men stood in the center of the square on the makeshift stage, calling out prices for the newest slaves. Upon seeing this his own collar weighed heavier upon him, and he became acutely more aware of the iron ring on his neck. He watched as mothers and children were dragged apart, crying, and husbands and wives were separated.

_How can anyone think this is right?_ He wondered.

Finally, they arrived at their destination. The base of the great pyramid. Even he was overwhelmed by it. It towered over them, seeming to touch the sky. The great harpy seemed to glare down at him. Afzal exited the litter, and began climbing the pyramid, leaving them at the base. Trysten became aware now that the square at the base of the pyramid was now filling with a crowd of people. More Masters seemed to be joining Afzal on the pyramid. He strained his eyes to see them and block out the sun, as the square grew more and more full. Men and women milled about around him. Children rushed between the legs of the crowd, some climbing upon their parents shoulders to get a better look.

"Silence!" One of the masters shouted, and immediately the crowd obeyed. He was a fat man, clothed in a fine red silk. Around him stood a group of slave soldiers. Trysten noted they seemed inexperienced, more for show than anything. They wore fine gilded armor, with flowery designs engraved on their breastplates and shields. They held long spears, though from the way they held them, and the way they shifted nervously from side to side he doubted they could use them.

"People of Meereen" The fat man shouted, waving his plump hands, which were covered in fine rings "we have gathered you here today to show you the price of disobedience!" He proclaimed, and a murmur of horror passed over the crowd. "Bring for the slave!"

Next Afzal stepped forward, stroking his beard as if thoughtfully, watching as an old man was dragged forward, onto the platform on the great pyramid. He was a frail man, his skin leathery and worn from years of work. He had a scraggly white beard, and his frail frame shook with fear.

"This man" Afzal shouted, gesturing to the poor soul "is guilty of disobedience!" He proclaimed. Trysten had seen him before, it was the old man who had spoken at the slave meeting. "He has defied his rightful masters, and willfully participated in talk of rebellion. He has been found spreading rumors of the Dothraki bitch and her so called freedom!" He shouted, and again the crowd broke into nervous murmuring, before he silenced them with a wave of his hand. The man glared at Afzal with defiance, then spat on the ground, and muttered something intelligible to Afzal, who glared at him then spoke again. "In our infinite wisdom" he continued "we have determined that this man should be punished." As he said this, the man was dragged forward to the front of the pyramid, before he was throne off the platform. At first the crowd was silent, watching in horror as he plummeted. Then the screaming began, as women and children screamed in complete shock and terror. The crowd attempted to back away. To his credit, the man never screamed, never begged for mercy, never cried or pled for his life. He hit the ground with a sickening crunch, and Trysten looked away in disgust.

"Let him be an example to all of you!" Afzal shouted over the hysterical crowd. "Insurrection will not be tolerated. This is the fate that awaits all those who would defy us!" The crowd began shouting angrily, some even beginning to shout in fury and rage at Afzal.

"However, in our generosity" Afzal screamed, and the crowd quieted, hanging on every word "the good Masters have determined that we shall invite this Dothraki bitch to Meereen. We shall show her the way, just as that slave wanted. We shall mark the way, every mile, with one child, who shall point the way. They will be crucified. We will teach this Dothraki bitch we are not to be trifled with" he screamed, and the crowd was worked into a frenzy. Women and children screamed as soldiers dragged children away, taking them to the pyramid. Children cried. Men shouted in rage. Soon the crowd was furious. A stone was hurled at Afzal, hitting him on the head.

"Get me that man!" He screamed furious, but the soldiers didn't move. They were too busy trying to push back the growing mob of people, screaming obscenities at Afzal. Trysten recognized the opportunity. This would degenerate into a full scale riot. He began working up the crowd, joining them, before he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"We must go!" Fiorenzo told him, doing his best to be heard over the crowd. "Get your men. We must head back!"

"Head back? Head back! Now is our chance! The crowd will riot. We can rid ourselves of them. Every master in the city is here!" Trysten replied angrily.

"Exactly. Do you think they wouldn't have expected this? There are soldiers stationed at every exit. They'll kill everyone in here if this escalates any further. We must leave!" Fiorenzo told him urgently. "Afzal killed Ascanio. The people loved him, he was like a grandfather to the city, and taking their children will work them into a frenzy. There will be a rebellion, but we must prepare. We fight on our terms!"

"Fine." Trysten spat, working his way through the crowd and finding Ser Daven and the silversides milling about, unsure of whether to join in the riots. He gathered them, and they returned to the manse.

_Three days later _

Fiorenzo had been right. Most of the crowd had dispersed, but the group of one to two hundred people remaining in the square had continued to grow angrier, spurring each other onward. They pushed through the soldiers, attempting to reach the masters, before the soldiers rushed in. It was a slaughter. Since then the city had functioned under martial law. No one was allowed on the streets after dark without written permission from the masters. Each day, the square grew more filled with the bodies of rebellious slaves, put on display to discourage others. It only served to enflame them more. The dothraki army was close. The crowd could sense it.

At midday, Trysten heard the great bell ringing, followed by shouting from the street and the sound of boots on stone. He looked out through the window. From outside the city walls, he could see a great cloud of dust rising. Fiorenzo ran past him, putting on his armor as he ran.

"Fiorenzo!" Trysten called, getting his attention.

"She's here! We must go!" Fiorenzo responded. "To the walls." He replied, rushing off. Trysten gathered his men, before they to rushed to the walls. He could hear shouting, and watched as the Masters on the wall cheered and jeered. At the base of the wall, a throng of slaves gathered, doing their best to hear what was going on. Suddenly, the masters were silent, and from over the walls he could hear a large mass of people cheer. The sounds of cheering were quickly accompanied by the sounds of winding and crunching, before he saw a mass of small objects hurtle over the walls.

"Arrows!" He shouted to the other slaves. "Take cover!" He said, ducking for cover, before he was struck in the chest by one of the projectiles. He looked down in shock, waiting for the pain to come, the cold, the blood to come rushing out. But there was no pain. No blood. The projectile had bounced off him, sitting on the ground. A collar. A broken slave collar. He watched as the crowd moved from their hiding places, examining the objects on the ground, as they talked in hushed and surprised voices. The gathered in small groups.

_That night_

It was nearly one in the morning. Afzal had called Trysten into his quarters, asking him to review documents detailing the city's food stores and the army's equipment. The candle was burning low, and he could barely see. The city was nearly silent. By tomorrow morning, he would be free, or he would be dead. After the collars had fallen, a group of slaves had called a secret meeting. They planned their rebellion. Many of the slave soldiers had seen the unsullied before the walls and wanted no part of the fight. They would support them. And the people would support them too. The Master's recent cruelty had alienated them.

"Boy" Afzal called, gesturing for Trysten to approach.

"Master" Trysten replied politely, clutching the knife hidden in his sleeve. _Gods where was the signal. Lets get this over with. _Ser Daven and Fiorenzo were waiting outside with the other silversides, waiting to attack when the signal was given. Afzal stood, drawing Dawnbringer.

"I'm no fool. Don't get any ideas. That Dothraki bitch will never get in here." Afzal said, watching him coldly. "Drop that knife." Trysten nearly did out of sheer surprise.

"What knife?" He asked innocently, doing his best to stall. _Not till the signal. _He thought, resisting the urge to lunge at Afzal.

"Oh come off it." Afzal responded. "Drop the knife, and I'll let you off with a whipping." He said, leveling Dawnbringer at his chest. The steel glistened in the candelight, just as sharp as Trysten remembered it. He slowly withdrew the knife. One wrong move and he was dead. He sank to the ground. _C'mon. The signal. Give the signal. _He thought. Just as he was about to place the knife on the ground, he heard it. A the great bell chimed seven times. Afzal listened, in surprise, before a look of understanding flashed across his face. Trysten and he looked to one another for a moment, before Afzal lunged with Dawnbringer, but Trysten was faster, diving to the side just as Daven and Fiorenzo rushed in, blades ready. Trysten jumped towards Afzal, tackling him and knocking him to the floor, sending Dawnbringer tumbling from his hand and clattering across the floor. Trysten struggled, doing his best to force the knife to Afzal's throat, but the man was strong. He clawed at Trysten's face, gripping his wrist tightly and forcing the blade away. He brought his knee up, driving it into Trysten's gut. He groaned in pain, and Afzal took the chance to punch him in the face, knocking Trysten off him and forcing him to drop the knife, which fell past Afzal's face, slicing his cheek. Afzal grabbed the blade and before Daven or Fiorenzo could react, rushed at Trysten, emitting a bloodcurdling scream. Tryssten grasped around searching for anything to protect himself. He found Dawnbringer's hilt, and rolled over, bringing the point up. The scream stopped. Afzal had rushed right onto the blade. He coughed, spraying blood onto Trysten's face and getting blood tangled in his beard. Blood seeped through his silk robes, staining the blue fabric a dark red. Trysten stood, forcing Afzal to the ground.

"Die you bastard." He spat, before wrenching the blade out of Afzal's gut.

"We should go. They'll need us in the rest of the city." Fiorenzo told him, and Daven nodded.

"First, let me get what's mine." Trysten told them, going to the armory to retrieve his armor. It would be a long night.


	14. Chapter 13

_Author's Note: Hey guys! Glad to see you guys enjoyed the last chapter. PNow for the moment you've all been waiting for, we finally see Daenerys. Anyways, please let me know what you think of the story, it's really helpful and lets me know where I need to improve. As usual, please review, it's always great to see people's feedback. Enjoy!_

_Iagan_

It had been nearly a week since news of Robb's victory had reached him, and his leg had healed considerably. He could now walk, almost devoid of a limp, and it wouldn't be long until he returned to the army. To help prepare himself, he had found Loras Tyrell training in the yard, and the young knight couldn't resist a chance to duel a ranger.

"So Iagan, you're finally feeling well enough to fight?" Loras asked.

"Well enough to best you." He joked cockily. Loras' eyes narrowed. He was prideful, that much was clear. He flipped down the visor of his helm. It was an ornate thing, and Iagan doubted it would last long in combat, with all the carved flowers and ornamental bits secured to it. Loras' armor was just as fancy, and it was clear it had never actually seen combat. The Tyrell rose glistened on the breastplate, and his bracers and greaves we polished to perfection, without a scratch on them.

His own armor stood in stark contrast to Loras'. He'd had a new set forged at Highgarden's blacksmith, and the man had done a good job, following his instructions to the letter. Iagan wore his cloak, fasted around his shoulders by the ranger pin, a small silver heart tree leaf. He wore a helm, but nothing as encumbering as Loras' . A Ranger needed to be able to see everything, without the obstruction of some large piece of metal. He had kept his breastplate, engraved with his burning weirwood, and the sun reflected off it. His horse padded the earth in front of him. Iagan had always been uneasy on horses, not like Trysten who had taken to them instantly or Maerisa who seemed to find more in common with them then others. But he had hand picked his mount. When he had chosen Comet, he had been a colt, grazing alone. The herd had rejected him, and Iagan raised him to be a model Ranger mount. He could be controlled with a word or a tap of his heel, enabling Iagan to ride and shoot at the same time. He wasn't as big as the large destriers the Knights rode, but he was fast and smart, just what Iagan needed.

Loras spurred his own horse into action, and with that the duel was on. Loras' own horse thundered ahead, while Comet rushed towards them. Iagan lowered his lance and Loras did, and the two collided. Loras' lance shattered his own shield, and Iagan fought to stay in the saddle. His own lance bounced of Loras' shield, and he saw the knight of the flowers reel from the blow. The horses circled, and Loras was brought another lance. The two charged again, this time his thrust missed, while Loras' made strong contact, slamming into his shield and forcing it into his chest. Loras was good. He had feinted low, and hit high, and Iagan was sent tumbling from the saddle where he crashed to the ground. For most knights, such a blow would mean the end in combat, but Iagan's lighter armor meant he could rise quickly and move just as well on foot.

"Are you alright?" Loras called, his horse trotting over.

"I'm fine, thanks" Iagan told him, doing his best not to let his embarrassment show.

"I guess we've determined who's better" Loras chuckled.

_Damn knights. Always think they've won._ Iagan thought angrily. Loras was a good man, but he could be infuriating with his damn air of superiority.

"I've never been one for horses anyway" Iagan said dismissively. "Lets settle this on the ground like real men" he challenged Loras.

"Alright." Loras said confidently, swinging from the saddle gracefully, grabbing a blunt sword and tossing another to Iagan, who caught it deftly. "Any rules?" he asked, almost patronizingly.

"None." Iagan responded, steeling himself for the fight. He knew Loras was good, one of the best in the seven kingdoms. Around them, he could see a group of Tyrell men at arms. They stood around them, forming a lose circle to watch the bout, and he was dimly aware of them placing bets.

"Shall we?"

"After you" Iagan retorted sarcastically.

Loras swung at him, his sword whistling through the air. Iagan caught the blow on his shield, deflecting it, and slashed at Loras, who parried it and countered, forcing him backwards towards a low wall. Iagan did his best to block the blows, but Loras was astonishingly fast, his blade darting to and fro. He could hear the Tyrell men jeering at him and urging their knight on.

"You really are quite good" Loras told him as Iagan thrust. "One of the best I've fought." He redirected Iagan's thrust, which went wide, and responded with his own chop, which Iagan dodged, the blade slicing through the air just a second from where he had been. "Not good enough of course" Loras grinned.

Iagan was driven back to the wall, parrying Loras' strikes. Loras smiled, anticipating his victory, sensing Iagan had nowhere to go. Iagan lunged, exposing himself, and Loras took the opportunity to bat his shield away and knock Iagan backwards, his back smacking into the stone. Loras advanced. The Tyrell men shouted at Loras to finish it, laughing at Iagan and shouting at him to fight like a man and hold his ground.

"The Ranger can't fight!" One fat man taunted.

"Spirit my arse! If anyone's a ghost it'll be him if he fights like that" another said, earning the laugh of the crowd.

WIthout his shield however, Iagan was faster, more agile, almost impossibly quick from years of darting through the treetops. The knight lunged in, and Iagan leaped. The sword cut passed harmlessly underneath him, and Iagan's foot slammed into Loras' shield, propelling him upward. He bounced over Loras, landing behind him as the knight struggled to turn and keep the ranger in front of him. Iagan kicked Loras viciously behind the knee, forcing Loras to the ground. He brought his blade around, placing it at Loras' throat.

"How did you- that's not- what-" Loras sputtered, trying to comprehend what had happened. The courtyard was dead silent.

"Dead." Iagan laughed, bringing the sword away and helping Loras to his feet, whose face was red with anger.

"That's not fair! That's not how you're supposed to fight!" Loras cried indignantly.

"It is if you're a Ranger." Iagan told him, becoming aware of a slow clap from across the courtyard. He looked over, wiping sweat from his brow. It was Margaery. The men dispersed, and he approached.

"Showing off again I see." She scolded him.

"I've got to keep the reputation up" he said apologetically. "Once word gets out a Ranger's gone soft then people starting thinking they can actually stand up to us and then its just work, work, work all day long." He told her, earning a giggle.

"Beside's someone had to knock him down to size." He waved his hand at Loras, who had now risen to his feet and was walking over, dripping sweat and panting heavily.

"From what I saw the only one getting knocked down was you." Margaery retorted, and Iagan rolled his eyes.

"I don't do horses." He replied, brushing his hair out of his face.

"Well fought Ser." Loras told him, extending his gauntleted hand. "I'm glad you Rangers are on our side."

"We're glad to have you with us," Iagan said, shaking his hand. "Perhaps we can do this again sometime?"

"I'd love to. Perhaps you can show me how in seven hells you did that." Loras laughed.

"Only if you teach me how to actually joust. That feint was impressive." Iagan answered earnestly, earning another laugh from Loras.

"Ah but your parry? And the counterstrike? Perfectly timed." Loras replied. Margaery rolled her eyes.

"Yes, well you're both incredibly good at knocking people off horses with a stick we'll have to do it again sometime." She said sarcastically, quickly flashing Loras a look.

"Well, I need to go, I'm sure I'll be sore after this and the armor needs to get put away." Loras apologized before walking off. Iagan and Margaery watched him go.

"Is he always like that?" Iagan asked.

"Always" Margaery groaned. "It's all he thinks about. And he's been itching for another fight since Renly's tournament."

"Ah that's right. I forgot about your marriage to him. And how was married life?" Iagan asked, fetching his bow and quiver, and another bow for Margaery as they walked over to the range. Margaery nodded. She drew the bow, knocking an arrow and loosing. The arrow missed wide, and went skittering off into the brush. Margaery groaned with frustration.

"Fine."

"Fine? Just fine? That's all you have to say about it?" He prodded, firing an arrow into the center of the target.

"He was a good man. Loras loved him."

"And did you?" Iagan asked as she loosed an arrow, which flew off into the woods.

"Now look what you made me do." Margaery scolded.

"Did you?"

"No. I didn't alright." She admitted, knocking another arrow.

"So why did you?" He asked, sending another arrow slamming into the target.

"I had to. He was an important ally. I would've been a queen."

"You still could be. You're still officially betrothed to Joffrey." Margaery scoffed.

"I'll never marry him. He's a sadistic little bastard. He used to torture his last betrothed. The boy kills babies." She told him.

"See this is why married life isn't for me." Iagan laughed. "Perk of being a bastard, you don't need to marry anyone you don' t want to." Margaery knocked an arrow, looking at him with a mixture of confusion and envy.

"You're not a bastard anymore. Things are expected of you." Iagan groaned.

"I'm sure I'll be forced to marry some highborn fool now." Margaery's arrow clattered to the stone, skipping off the stones and hitting the target. "At least you hit it that time. Probably broke the arrow though." He teased.

"Oh give yourself some credit." She teased. "You're quite catch. I'm sure she'll be very happy to have you." She said sarcastically.

"She'll be some fool girl who always dreamt of some prince to save her and got stuck with me."

"Oh come on now we're not all that bad." Margaery added. Iagan pantomimed tossing his hair over his shoulder and batted his eyes at Margaery. "We're not all that bad." He squeaked in a feminine voice. Margaery giggled again.

"So who'll you marry now?"

"Whoever we need on our side I suppose." Margaery sighed. "Though I'm not certain I want to be a queen anymore. I seem to have bad luck with husbands." She suddenly became more downcast.

_Gods what do I do now. Now she's upset. _He had never been good at the whole comfort thing.

"I'm sure he'll be someone kind." He did his best to reassure her, bust didn't sound particularly convincing. Another of her arrows whistled past the target. "Alright enough of this talk of marriage. It's depressing." He said, trying to take her mind off it. "Focus on the target. Don't think, just focus." Iagan told her, standing behind her. She exhaled before trying again. This time the arrow thudded into a post behind the target, missing high. Iagan laughed, and Margaery glared at him.

"It's not funny."

"It is a little." Iagan said, doing his best to hide a smirk. "Maybe ladies weren't meant to shoot after all." He joked. Margaery whacked him with an arrow on the forearm.

"Ow." Iagan said, rubbing his arm as a red mark grew on it. "Now that's no way for a lady to behave." He said sarcastically, earning another dirty look from her. "A little coaching would be appreciated."

"Okay look, your stance is wrong." He said, putting his bow down and moving closer. "Look, you're not quite squared off." He said, putting his hands on her hips and turning her properly facing the target, adjusting her. "Now raise your arm so it's parallel to the ground." He said, guiding her arm upwards and helping to steady it. "Okay, now breathe. Just relax. Inhale, exhale." He said. He was incredibly close now. Her body was pressed against him, and he could smell her perfume, her brown locks tickling his face.

"Now release." He said. The arrow twanged off the bowstring, and thudded into the target, a bullseye. She lowered the bow, seemingly shocked.

"Wow." She said.

"See. It's easy." He told her.

"Thanks."

"It's no trouble. Once you figure it out it's just a matter of committing it to memory."

"No I mean for the reassurance. It's nice having someone just to talk and joke with. Everyone here is so damn serious." She flashed him a smile, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

"It's no trouble." He stammered. "I owe you. That's all. You saved my life." He tried to backtrack, but he could feel the blood rushing to his face. Margaery noted it, her smile widening, moving closer to him. Iagan cleared his throat.

"Anyways..." He trailed off, suddenly becoming very interested in gathering the arrows up. "I'd say thats enough training for today. I should clean up." Margaery stepped back.

"Oh. Alright." She said, and he could hear the slightest bit of disappointment in her voice. "Well I suppose I'll see you at dinner tonight? I'm sure my father will want to talk about our next move for the war." Iagan could feel his heart rate returning to normal.

"Sure." He said, not looking up from his work.

"And Iagan?" Margaery asked, and he looked up.

"Thanks." She said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek before running off, leaving him standing there, dumbstruck.

_These girls. They'll be the death of me. _

_Daenerys_

She sat in the throne room within the great pyramid. The night after she had ordered that her unsullied launch the broken collars into the city the slaves had revolted. The next morning the gates had been opened to her, and a huge banner hung from the harpy on top of the great pyramid.

She had wasted no time consolidating her power. Once the gates were opened, she rode through the city streets with her retinue, Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah, Daario, and Grey Worm flanking her, though she doubted they were necessary. The crowds adored her, and she relished in their cheers. Remnants of the slave revolts still lingered in the streets. Dried blood remained stuck between the cracks of the cobblestones, and the moans of the masters echoed through the catacombs in the pyramids. She had ordered the masters to be crucified, just as they had done to the children.

Barristan and Jorah had spoken against it, but these men were no better than murderers or criminals. She would be damned if she let them escape justice, and they deserved the punishment they were given. They were monsters, and their pleas for mercy had fallen on deaf ears. She was a Targaryen after all, and she would take what was hers with fire and blood, and any who stood against her would feel her wrath.

But she was also a mother, and as such she had to show mercy and compassion. She had to hear the plights of her children. And so she sat in a large chamber within the Great Pyramid.

It was a dark, cold place, and she felt trapped by it at times. It was dimly lit by torches and light filtered in through the window, but nevertheless the place felt ancient and hostile to her, as if the very stones resisted her presence. Each step she took seemed to echo ominously down the halls, and she felt isolated from her people here. Missandei stood at her side as always, translating the man's complaints. He was a poor blacksmith, and when the slaves revolted they had stolen many of his wares.

"Tell him he will be recompensed for his loss." She told Missandei, who quickly repeated it to the old blacksmith. The man bowed humbly, the light reflecting off the crown of his bald head.

"And tell him that we would seek his goods. I shall require more equipment for my unsullied. Tell him I would like to order four hundred spears." She told Missandei, smiling at the blacksmith. The man's eyes widened as Missandei relayed the message, and his eyes seemed to well with tears. He uttered something quietly, bowing low repeatedly and approaching the throne. Ser Jorah moved to intercept him, but she waved him off with her hand, and the old blacksmith climbed the steps, approaching her. From here she could see his coarse hands and scarred face, his arms rippling with muscle. He bent low, a tear trickling onto the floor in front of her throne, and knelt at her feet, kissing her hand and telling her something in his foreign tongue. Missandei translated.

"He says that they shall be the finest spears they have ever held. He says he will not fail you, and that you have his sincerest gratitude. He says your patronage will feed his children for months." The man nodded earnestly at her, smiling, tears trickling down his cheek, uncomprehending of what Missandei had said, before taking his leave.

Daenerys paused for a moment to compose herself. This was one of her favorite parts of being Queen. She could finally help all those in need, right the wrongs, protect the weak. She smiled to herself. _This is what being a Queen is about. _

"Send the next one in." She said, and Grey Worm nodded, opening the doors and saying something to the unsullied standing in the corridor.

She heard boots echoing down the corridor on the stone, and the quiet clinking of armor. She noticed Barristan's hand move to the hilt of his sword, hearing the sound of armor. A man entered the throne room, a fox padding at his heels. She was intrigued, leaning forward in her throne to get a better look. He removed his helm, a finely crafted thing, clearly good steel.

"You stand before Daenerys Stormborn, the unburnt, of the house Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of Meereen, Astapor, and Yunkai, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, mother of Dragons, and Lord protector of the Seven Kingdoms." Missandei proclaimed.

Not a man. A boy. No older than herself by the looks of it. He stood slightly taller than Jorah, and his skin was tanned, clearly from the sun. His hair was reddish gold, and he had a strong jaw. At his hip hung a Westerosi longsword like the one Jorah and Barristan carried, but the hilt was slightly shorter than either of theirs. His armor was somewhat scratched and dirty, but fine nonetheless, carefully crafted from light steel which reflected the light coming in from the window. He had a bruise high on his cheek, and a split lip, and his hair was matted to his forehead by sweat, which he attempted to push back from his forehead to keep it out of his face, but his most piercing quality were his eyes. They shone, looking almost gold, and despite his look of exhaustion, they remained alert and focused, taking in the surroundings, and regarding her with a mixture of awe and surprise. He seemed at a loss for words. She smiled at him, doing her best to put him at ease. She looked to Jorah or Barristan for any help, but they both seemed unfamiliar with the boy.

"How can I help you?" She said, finally breaking the silence.

"Your Grace." He said, dropping to one knee rapidly, his armor smashing into the stone, nearly sending him toppling over. The fox yipped at him, and he muttered something to it and silenced it, before staring intently at the floor, avoiding eye contact.

"You are from my country?" she asked with surprise, "Rise", she said chuckling at his show of deference. "Who are you ser?" She asked.

"I am your grace, Trysten Fadyn, your grace, Lord of Star's Reach." He told her. She recognized the name. Fadyn. They had been one of the usurper's dogs, fighting alongside Eddard Stark and Jon Arryn.

"My Queen, the boy cannot be Lord of Star's Reach. Lord Marius reigns in Star's Reach." Jorah told her.

"The Fadyns stood against your father during Robert's Rebellion," Ser Barristan added.

"It's true!" The boy exclaimed, now agitated, and the fox moved toward the throne, it's hackles raised. "I am Lord of Star's Reach. My father was killed in battle against the Lannisters." He said, and a look of sadness was cast over his face.

"And pray tell, how did you come to be here?" Jorah questioned, skeptical.

"I was to serve as an envoy for King Robb Stark, to travel to Volantis and secure more forces from his wife Queen Talisa Maegyr's father, but my ship was waylaid by pirates. They stormed the ship and captured my men and I." He explained.

"But why come to me?" She asked, now suspicious.

"The slavers-"

"You will address her as Your Grace, boy." Jorah corrected him, glaring at him.

"Forgive me, _Ser_, but I haven't slept in the last two days, and spent all of last night fighting the Masters to secure this city for _her Grace_." He said angrily, before continuing. "The Slavers sold my men and I into slavery. It was only by your arrival here that we were able to secure our freedom. You freed us your Grace." He told her sincerely, looking at her with gratitude.

Trysten drew his sword from it's sheath, and Jorah and Barristan each ripped their own from their scabbards, and along with Grey Worm stepped out in front of her to protect her. The boy lay the sword on the stone in front of her, and Jorah, Barristan and Grey Worm stepped back. She watched to boy curiously, unsure of what he was doing as he knelt before her.

"Your Grace, you gave me freedom, and thus gave me my life. For that I am in your debt. If you would have me, I would pledge to you my sword, my life, and my honor, and ask to protect your life as a member of your Queensguard" He told her, watching for her response. Barristan and Jorah looked at her, waiting for her answer.

_This boy is a member of a family that deposed my father. He serves a king who contests my claim. Can I trust him?_ She thought.

"Lord Trysten, I am flattered by your request." She told him. "But before accepting you into my service I must discuss it with my council." She could see the disappointment on his face, and his fox whined at his feet. "If you would give us a moment in private to discuss it." She concluded.

"Of course your grace." He bowed, and exited, his fox following at his heels.

"Your Grace, you can't seriously be considering allowing him into your service!" Jorah started once the boy was out of the room.

"And why shouldn't I?" She asked.

"His father fought against yours. He helped depose your family! It is his family's fault you are forced to rule here instead of your birthright!" Jorah protested.

"And if we are to punish each person for the actions of their forebearers, where would we be?" She asked, remembering the stories she had heard of her own father's atrocities.

"But your grace, he serves Robb Stark! Another usurper!" Jorah added.

"The Lannister's killed Robb's father." Barristan retorted. "The boy wants justice, not to sit on the iron throne."

"The boy calls himself the King in the North! He wants independence!" Jorah replied angrily.

"Your grace," Barristan began, ignoring Jorah, much to the younger knight's rage, "this boy could be exactly what we need. He stands before you willing to pledge his service to you. If I may, your Grace, we have need of experienced Knights and men, and this boy has both. If he truly is Lord of Star's Reach, which I believe him to be-" Barristan continued.

"And why is that, ser?" Jorah asked, suspicious.

"Because while you were busy raging over past slights-" he said, and she flashed him a look of confusion, which Barristan noticed and shook his head, as if seeming to say "not now", "I noticed his blade. He carries Dawnbringer, the ancestral Valyrian sword of House Fadyn. I've heard of this boy. They call him the 'Red Fox'. He matches the descriptions I've heard, and if he's anything like his father, he's a brilliant commander and a leader of men already."

"Apparently not brilliant enough to defeat a few pirates" Jorah muttered under his breath, and Barristan silenced him with a look.

"The boy commands the wealth and power of Star's Reach. He could be a powerful ally. Star's Reach commands nearly two thousand men, more if you count the Rangers and Silversides. That brings their total strength well above three thousand, and each Ranger and Silverside is worth at least three men at arms. Not to mention they command a navy only slightly smaller than the Greyjoy's own fleet. We need his men and ships." Barristan told her. "Not to mention friends in Westeros itself. Star's Reach could be a staging point for our intervention. And the Starks have knelt before, to your distant ancestor Aegon the Conqueror. Perhaps the boy could convince Robb to kneel to you, your Grace."

Barristan had a point. Trysten could be a powerful ally to have. Jorah remained silent, fuming. For whatever the reason, he held personal quarrel with this boy.

_Trysten_

He entered the throne room again, having been ushered in by one of the unsullied. Cinder darted around between his feet as he walked in, nearly causing him to trip. He cast Cinder a glowering look, and the fox calmed. He hoped the Queen hadn't noticed his nervousness. His hand's were shaking with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

"Your Grace." He said, kneeling. The queen stood, walking down from the throne and approaching him, standing only feet away. Her blue dress rippled around her as she moved, pooling on the stone before him.

"Lord Trysten," she began, and he looked up. She motioned with her hand indiscreetly to remain on his knees. His heart pounded in his chest and his mind was racing. His father's final words finally made sense. By some miraculous twist of fate he had found the "true Queen" his father had spoken of. This was his one opportunity to honor his father's request. He hadn't realized the 'Dothraki Bitch' Afzal had spoken of was a Targaryen. She certainly had the look of one. Her silvery gold hair cascaded down her back, braided carefully, her eyes sparkled, and her fair skin was flawless and smooth.

"Do you swear to serve me, to follow my orders, and to protect me with your sword, your honor, and your life if need be?" She asked.

"I do." He told her, his heart rate slowing with relief. _Thank the gods._

"Then rise, Ser Trysten Fadyn, of the Queensguard." She told him, and he rose. She flashed him a perfect smile, and he couldn't help but return it.

"Thank you your grace. I won't disappoint you."

_One week later _

Ever since his elevation to the Queensguard his life had been a flurry of activity. He guarded Daenerys' chambers, stood behind her while she heard requests and complaints from her people, and oversaw the training of the unsullied.

Ser Barristan had taken to him well enough, and he was honored to serve next to such an esteemed individual. The man treated him with respect, and he did the same. The old Knight hadn't lost any of his vigor, and he put Trysten through his paces. Trysten was sorely out of practice with a sword, but after a few days of training with Ser Barristan and having Dawnbringer back in his hands, his skill gradually returned and now he felt as though he was in fact superior to how he fought before his capture. Grey Worm treated him coldly at first, and though he was curt and respectful, the man didn't seem to have much of a personality, but after his suspicions were dispelled he had treated Trysten as a fellow warrior and regarded him with respect and dignity, and was friendly. Daenerys' herald, Missandei, seemed shy. She rarely said much to him, though he never had much cause to speak with her. Daario Naharis was a sellsword, plain and simple. He and Trysten got along well, and after a few cups of wine one night they discovered that they had served alongside one another in the second sons. Trysten recognized many of the men in the company, and many remembered him and greeted him with excitement, astonished by the growth of the green young boy that they had sent away only a few years earlier into a man. They still joked that he couldn't grow a beard and that he hadn't been with a woman, the same sorts of jokes that men at war tend to, but he paid them no real mind. They were somewhat awestruck at his elevation to the Queensguard, and often challenged him to bouts of swordplay to test his mettle, and were sufficiently impressed when he defeated them.

Ser Jorah on the other hand seemed to have an inherent dislike for him. The man was always cold and hostile, and seemed to regard him with a mixture of hate and distrust, for no apparent reason. He would often catch the knight glaring at him or muttering obscenities about him behind his back. Whenever they trained, the duels became slightly more intense, both of them unleashing their fury on the other, and after a significant number of bruises, scrapes, and losses to each other, they built a healthy amount of respect for one another, although their dislike and enmity seemed to grow into a rivalry. Daenerys would often come watch these duels, and whenever she was present the two would fight harder. For his own part, Trysten simply didn't want to seem incompetent or unworthy, but he sensed Jorah fought harder for some other reason.

He was overseeing the second sons when they went for supplies when Barristan approached him. He nodded politely to the knight as the man approached, but continued watching the men unload crates from the ship.

"Lord Trysten" Barristan said politely.

"Ser Barristan, how can I help you today?" Trysten asked.

"I need your help. As I'm sure you're aware the Sons of the Harpy attacked another member of the unsullied last night by the great Pyramid."

"I heard. Unfortunate that no one caught them. I wish I could get my hands on those cowards." The Sons of the Harpy were a resistance movement in Meereen. They had perpetrated numerous attacks on freed slaves and Daenerys' soldiers in the last week. From what he knew, they were made up of angry nobles and masters who wanted to oppose the Queen's rule.

"And as I'm sure you're painfully aware, Daenerys has very little way of replacing those losses. The unsullied could train more of course, but doing that takes time and less than desirable methods if we want the same quality." Trysten nodded, understandingly. The Sons of the Harpy could afford whatever losses they took, assuming they weren't completely exterminated. They could replace their casualties, whereas Daenerys could not.

"So what do you mean to do about it?" Trysten asked.

"The Queen can never retake Westeros with just unsullied. They'll be useful of course, but they're hoplites. What can they do against a Westerosi knight or their heavy cavalry? Her Dothraki are mobile, but they could never hold up against a knight, and could never withstand their charge or assault a city. The mercenaries are useful, but they'll sell us out the first time they get offered a better price. We need loyal soldiers. We need knights." Trysten nearly laughed.

"And where do you propose we get them? My forces are all fighting with the Starks under my uncle. Perhaps I could spare a few Silversides and Rangers, but that's all, and even then it would take them weeks to arrive and what use are a few men?"

"That's all we would need." Barristan answered.

"What exactly are you proposing?" Trysten asked, intrigued.

"We train our own knights. Between you, your men, Jorah, and myself, we could train a small contingent of men and equip them, and they could train others and so on."

"It takes years of training." Trysten warned.

"I know. They don't need to be the best quality, but even having a few knights with half the skill of either of us would be a critical asset. Each of us would have a few squires, and train them." Trysten thought about it for a moment. He was sure Ser Daven would be thrilled to have a few boys to train, he and the Silversides had been itching for something more interesting to do than simply patrolling the streets and carting supplies. Trysten shrugged his shoulders.

"It can't hurt. I assume Daenerys has already consented?" Barristan nodded.

"You'll get your squires tomorrow. Tell your men." With that he left Trysten.

_ My own squires. Gods it seems like only yesterday that I was squiring. Am I really ready to mentor them? Or to serve Daenerys? And what about Robb, or my family for that matter? What will happen now that no troops from Volantis are coming? I failed. For that matter, what will happen to them if Daenerys succeeds? Gods they must be worried sick about me. _ Trysten thought to himself. _No. You can't think like that. Daenerys needs you to be completely focused. First, you have to get her to Westeros before worrying about any of that. If you can't do that, nothing will matter anyway._


	15. Chapter 14

_Author's Note: Hey guys! Hope you all enjoyed the last chapter, Daenerys finally showed up. In this chapter, we'll have another new POV. Let me know what you think of the new POV and the story as a whole, it's really nice to read helpful or positive reviews, but the critical ones are just as useful. In regards to guest's ever so helpful review, I haven't forgotten the Daynes, of Starfall- not star's reach (if you're going to criticize the story at least get your facts straight). Also, Starfall is on the border between Dorne and the Reach, whereas Star's Reach is in the vale. They are two entirely separate cities. Although the I did forget about the Dayne's ancestral longsword Dawn, whereas the Faydn's is dawnbringer, so that is similar. As usual, please review. Enjoy!_

_Theon_

The Iron Islands looked exactly as they had when he left. _They've probably looked this way since the first men_. He thought, admiring the high cliffs and crags. Then north was certainly cold and bleak, but it had nothing on the the islands. _His islands_. He corrected himself. _His home._ Pyke was a desolate, cold place. A few rag tag fishing boats lay haphazardly strewn around the harbor, the fishermen pulling in their ragged catches. A hamlet of small shacks splayed out from the docks in a disorderly manner. The wind bit at his face, spraying salt sea air into his face.

It had been a long journey, and he was glad to have finally reached his destination and return. He had spent the days at sea imagining the welcome he'd receive as the heir to Pyke and the Iron Islands. That, and spending his nights with the captain's daughter. She wasn't particularly unattractive, granted she wasn't very bright, but somehow it hadn't felt the same as before. It was emptier, less satisfying. Try as he might, he couldn't get that damn Fadyn girl out of his head.

_The next morning_

He had risen early. His bed had been uncomfortable, and he had been unable to sleep the night before. He had been grappling with his conscience all night. His welcome to Pyke hadn't been anything like he imagined. He wasn't greeted by some grand welcome party at the docks, his father hadn't even show up to meet him. He had been somewhat disappointed, but when an attractive woman had arrived to take him up to the castle he hadn't complained. That is, until he realized it was his sister, Asha. She had grown into a woman since she last saw him. He supposed he had as well, leaving her when he was only ten.

He had been excited to see his father, and despite his welcome, he kept his hopes high to be warmly reunited with Balon Greyjoy. The man he met was nothing like the father he remembered. He was an old, decrepit man, long past his glory days. The man was weak, and though he still spoke with an air of authority and command, and did his best to remain the intimidating Ironborn he had been, the effect was somewhat lost due to his receding, grey hair, and the way he shook when he stood. He was a cold, bitter man, and he had rejected Robb's proposal out hand. He had done his best to persuade his father, but he was intent on reclaiming his glory, but Theon knew he would never be king again in his own lifetime. His father's strength was gone.

So too, apparently, was any of the love he had once had for Theon. His father had practically rejected him. He told him "the starks had made him theirs". He told him he was no true Ironborn. The old fool had even refused to give him command of any of the ships, while his bitch sister was given a whole fleet.

He clambered out his bed. He had been given his old room, and it hadn't changed much from his memories, other than accumulate a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. His room was cold and damp, despite the fire he had lit himself in the corner. His father had told him that if he wanted a fire, he'd not have servants doing it for him and having his son grow softer. He had tried to visit his mother, but she had sunk even deeper into madness during his absence. She hadn't even recognized him, just pleaded with him to let her see Rodrick or Maron.

He opened the window, then, feeling the cold wind swirl throughout his chambers, decided against leaving it open and slammed it shut. He had been a hostage at Winterfell. His father had made certain to remind him of that in no uncertain terms, but nevertheless, he found himself missing his old room in Winterfell. At least there he was warm and comfortable. _Hard places breed hard men._ His father had once told him. But here, it just seemed like it made men as cold and bitter.

He knew his father was planning an invasion of the north. He knew his sister would be leading the fleet, and his father had told him he would be given command of one, insignificant longship. The night before, he had spent hours drafting a rewriting letters to Robb, warning him of the coming invasion. He had done everything in his power to drive his father to invade the west, but his father was completely set on invading the North.

_I should warn Robb. _He kept telling himself. _How many will die if I don't?_

_But you'll be a prince!_ Another part of him said. _No more being the second in command! No more taking orders! One day you'll be a king!_

Try as he might, he couldn't reach a decision. He wanted to warn Robb, but he couldn't. He couldn't betray his father. His own blood. He took the letter, and burned it over the candle.

Theon pulled on his boots and britches, and a thick jerkin, and left his room to find his father in the great hall and receive the full orders.

_Trysten_

The morning began as most did in Meereen. It was incredibly hot, and he dreaded having to put on his armor. He knew he would roast in it, but he was meeting his squires today and he would have to be prepared. He had finally had a chance to bathe, washing the dirt and blood and sweat from his body. His lip had nearly healed, though the bruise on his cheek from Afzal's blow still bothered him, and his back had scarred over from the pirate's lashing. A series of long, horizontal slashes ran along his skin, and he knew he would bear those scars for life.

The city was already alive, and he strolled onto the balcony, pausing to admire the city. Below him, he could see people bustling about their everyday lives. A man was herding goats to the market, where silk cloth and colorful awnings fluttered in the morning breeze. He could hear the clanking of armor as the unsullied tromped through the streets in their tight blocks, patrolling. He had to admire their discipline. Cinder yipped in his chamber behind him. He heard a knock at his door.

"Come in" he shouted, turning back to the door as he pulled his greaves on. He flexed his fingers, enjoying the way the steel and mail gauntlet felt. He had missed his armor. It was a part of him, and when it was taken it was like Afzal had taken his identity. He was glad to have it back. He couldn't help but smile as he strapped Dawnbringer to his waist, feeling the familiar weight return to his hip, the symbol of his family and now his freedom. Ser Daven strode into the room. He had cleaned up as well. He was back in his old armor. Cinder barked at him, and the knight smiled at the fox and affectionately scratched behind his ears. Daven had always been one of Cinder's favorites.

"What news Daven?"

"Not much new m'lord. The boys are all just about ready, finally back into top form after that ordeal. They've already met their squires."

"And?" Trysten prodded.

"They'll have to do. Alexander's is a large boy, shows some promise, worked as a blacksmith. Andray's is a smallish lad, couldn't be older than ten years. Apparently his mother and father were slaves. Brom and Domeric seem to have a few interesting ones, but none of them seems to be much good with a sword."

Trysten nodded. He hadn't expected much more. The children here weren't raised as knights, hell, they weren't even raised as warriors. They were slaves. It would be quite a bit of work before they could equip any real heavy cavalry contingent.

"Well then, we best get to work." He said, strapping on his cloak and striding out of the room, Daven following behind. "What about the son's of the harpy?" He asked. The terrorists had been growing bolder as of late. Three slaves had been found hung in the market the day before. What he would give to storm the Master's palaces and put the bastards to the sword, but the queen wouldn't allow it.

"Another unsullied killed last night. Black Maggot. Ambushed in an alleyway, stabbed in the back." Daven told him. Another death they couldn't afford. The masters could replace their fighters. Daenerys however, could not.

"They shouldn't be traveling alone. Tell Grey Worm I need to speak with him. The Unsullied need to alter their methods a bit." He told Daven, and the man nodded, before taking the lead into the courtyard. Two boys stood looking very lost in the center, shuffling about nervously in the sand.

"My squires?" Trysten asked, and Daven nodded.

"I best be going. I have my own squires to deal with, and I should check in on the rest of the boys." Daven told him, before turning and leaving to find the other Silversides.

Trysten took the momentary pause to assess the boys he had been given. Barristan had done his best to pick out boys who showed promise of fighting, but the two in front of him didn't seem to be particularly strong. The one on the right was tall. He must've been past his twelfth, maybe even his thirteenth name day. He had dark skin and thick black hair, with a broad nose and dark eyes. _A summer islander. _Trysten thought. The boy on the left seemed older, but was definitely shorter. He had olive skin, and a hint of a beard grew on his jaw. He had curly, black hair, and shifted nervously from foot to foot. The two appeared to take notice of him, standing slightly straighter, their eyes trained on him. He approached. They bowed.

"Lord Fadyn" they said politely.

"And who is addressing me?" He asked, and the two looked up. The summer islander spoke first.

"Alekim m'lord. Most call me Alek sir."

"Ian ser," ah, a Westerosi. Or maybe volantene. He couldn't tell.

"Ian. And where are you two lads from?" He asked.

"The summer islands m'lord." Alek responded.

"Volantis." _So it was Volantis. _He thought to himself, satisfied.

"Well boys, allow me to introduce myself. I am Trysten Fadyn, Lord of Star's Reach, member of Queen Daenerys Targaryen's Queensguard. And this is Cinder" at the mention of his name, the fox perked up, moving towards Alek. The boy started. Trysten laughed. "He won't bite. I'm sure you're both aware of why you are here?" He asked, and the two nodded. "Good. You two will serve as my squires. Your duties will include taking messages, serving me in battle, helping me put on my armor" he said, doing his best to remember everything he had done as a squire. "And my duties," he continued "will be to train you two into knights to serve her grace." Questions?

Ian interjected. "I've heard of you, M'lord. You served in the second sons. They called you the Red Fox. I saw you fight. You're incredible! It's an honor to serve as your squire" The boy sounded eager. Trysten smiled.

"The fox is my sigil, yes. I have heard some call me the Red Fox, though you shall address me as, my lord, Lord Trysten, Lord Fadyn, or-"

"Trysten!" The shout came from across the courtyard. It was Ser Barristan.

"Or Trysten." He sighed. "Everyone else seems to" he muttered defeatedly. So much for trying to seem proper. Barristan approached him.

"I see you've met your squires." He said.

"Yes ser. I was just going over the basics with them."

"Good. I come bringing word from the queen. She requests a meeting with you in the afternoon."

"Tell her I shall be present." Barristan nodded, leaving.

"That," Trysten paused "was possibly the greatest Knight to ever live. Ser Barristan the bold. I believe you two have met him?" The boys nodded once more. "If you think I'm good" he said, turning to Ian "you should see that man fight. Speaking of which, it's time we began training." He said, moving over to the weapons rack, and motioning for the boys to follow.

"Now as knights, you two would normally be expected to be proficient with the longsword and the lance. However, lucky for you two I was raised in Star's Reach, which means you two lads will learn to use bows as well." Normally, he remembered that whenever he had been told he had to use a bow he had groaned, but these two seemed completely invested. Good.

"Either of you two ever held a sword before or ridden a horse?" They shook their heads.

"What did each of you do before this?" He asked. Over the course of the morning, he gathered that Alek had been a slave for a master who dealt mostly in spices. He had spent the majority of his time carting boxes off and onto ships. Ian on the other hand, had grown up in Volantis before he was sold as a slave. He had worked as a fisherman. Neither of the two had ever fought in their lives.

What they lacked in experience they more than compensated for with enthusiasm. Trysten spent the morning showing them the basics of swordplay, and demonstrating the drills they would carry out every day. He showed the two of them how to properly hold a sword and adjusted their stances, and demonstrated the different cuts they might use in combat. He set them to working on the practice posts. After nearly an hour in the baking sun, neither of them had seemed to tire at all. Though he knew their arms must be aching from working with the heavy wooden swords and shields. He was tired as well. He had spent most of the time moving from one to the other, correcting their form. Ian showed some promise, and moved surprisingly quickly, darting in and out and thrusting well, but Alek was having more difficulty. The larger boy put too much power into his cuts, committing himself completely to each blow and opening himself up to counters. Finally, at about midday, Trysten stopped their practice, telling them to eat and rest before they resumed training in the afternoon after his audience with Daenerys.

As he turned to leave the courtyard and find the queen, he found she had already found him, and was sitting in a bench under the shade of tree, watching him intently.

_Daenerys_

She had spent the morning dealing with petty matters of state. Although she enjoyed helping the people, she found it a bit tedious at times, and she knew she had to take a break eventually. So she had left Barristan to hear the rest of the petitioners, and decided she would meet Trysten in the main courtyard.

She was always astonished by the size of the great pyramid. It seemed like a city within itself. It held a number of smalll rooms and courtyards, twisting and turning among the ancient stones. By some feat of engineering, many remained opened to the sun and were roofless. She had eventually found Trysten in the main courtyard, a large, open space. A few trees sat soaking in the sun, doing their best to shade the courtyard's occupants from the blistering Meereenese sun. The courtyard had been converted a training ground, and practice posts, a quintain, archery butts, and a jousting list set up.

Lord Trysten was clearly engrossed in what he was doing, and she sat down on a shaded bench to watch him and wait. Despite the heat, he seemed to have an incredible amount of energy, practically running from one boy to another, correcting and critiquing their form and adjusting, though she could see the sweat dripping off him. His fox trotted around behind him, always present.

It was interesting to watch. She had seen knights fight before, but never quite knew how they were trained or learned. Lord Trysten seemed to be an enthusiastic teacher, and the boys he was training seemed to like him well enough.

_Perhaps Ser Barristan is right. He seems kind enough. How could he be guilty for the crimes of his father? _She thought. Trysten told the boys something, and they laughed, before in a flash of light and steel, he demonstrated a strike on one of the posts with his own blade. She was almost startled by the speed and ferocity of the blow. He had gone from a completely casual stance, to a devastating strike in the blink of an eye. The sound of the strike rattled off the stones, resonating throughout the courtyard. The blade was buried nearly halfway through the post, and Trysten wrenched it free with ease, wiping some of the sweat from his brow. _That was one of the fastest strike's I've ever seen. I don't care what Jorah says, he must be one of the best swordsmen in Westeros. I'm glad he's on my side. _He said something she couldn't hear, and the two boys laughed, before attempting the attack on their own rather clumsily. Trysten paced between the two of them, occasionally correcting them or telling them something out of earshot. Finally, he gathered the two boys to him, and seemed to dismiss him, before adjusting his armor, grabbing his helm from its place on the stone, and turning in her direction. He immediately noticed her, his gold eyes locked on her. She stood, smiling at him as he walked towards her.

"My Queen" he bowed.

"Lord Trysten." She responded, nodding politely. "I see you've been working with your squires."

"Only doing my best to enlarge your grace's retinue." He responded formally, almost stiffly. _He's nothing if not formal._ She thought.

"And how goes their training?"

"They have quite a bit to learn my queen, but they'll get there in time. It takes practice. They've only been at it one day." He answered. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, and she took the opportunity to get a better look at him. Since taking him onto her Queensguard, she hadn't seen much of the young lord. He was to busy training his men and handling the daily tasks of a Queensguard for her to have talked to him much. He had cleaned up since she had first met him, washing the blood off his polished armor and cleaning the grime from his face, and had shaved and trimmed his hair. He could almost be called attractive now-"Your grace," he asked, interrupting her thoughts. "If I may ask, you said you needed to meet with me. How can I be of service?" He asked.

"Oh. Um, yes, of course. I simply wanted to talk. You've served me for some time now, and I thought I would check in on you. How are you."

"Fine, your grace." The question seemed to throw him off guard.

"Daenerys." She corrected. She wasn't sure why. She had never felt the need to tell Jorah or Barristan to address her like that.

"Yes, your grace," he answered. She felt a tugging at her dress. She looked down in surprise. His fox was tugging at the bottom of her dress.

"Cinder. Down!" Trysten commanded, looking at her apologetically. She waved her hand dismissively.

"It's no trouble, really. What did you say his name was?" She asked. This seemed to put him more at ease.

"Cinder, your grace." She cast him a reproachful glance, and he shrugged apologetically.

"How old is he?"

"Nearly a year, your grace. I raised him myself."

"You raised him?" She asked, surprised.

"Most Fadyns do. Sort of a house traditon. He explained. They were interrupted by a screech from above. Rhaegal dove down out of the sky, the sun glistening off his green scales. He landed in the courtyard next to her. Cinder scampered back behind his owner, hiding behind his legs. Trysten looked surprised. He was quiet, taking in the sight of the dragon. Rhaegal was smaller than Drogon, but he was by no means small. Now he was nearly the size of a horse, and still growing fast. Smoke tendrils wafted from his nostrils. She put a hand on his snout to calm him. After a moment, Trysten shook his head.

"I never thought I'd live to see a dragon, your grace. He's magnificent. What's his name?" He asked, curiosity flashing behind his gold eyes.

"Rhaegal. Drogon and Viserion are the other two."

"He's amazing. I can only imagine how powerful they would be full grown. With three of these at your side, your grace, taking the seven kingdoms becomes a great deal easier. Though I pray we'll never have to use them." He added. Cinder now peeked out from behind Trysten's legs, seeming to grow more bold. He darted forward, barking at the dragon. Rhaegal seemed almost startled by it, craning his neck for a better look at the tiny creature that dared to face him with such impunity. Trysten laughed.

"Well he certainly has spirit" she commented, giggling.

"That he does." He said, ruffling the fur of his pet. "If you don't mind, may I?" He asked, approaching the dragon, who regarded him with suspicion and curiosity.

"I wouldn't." She cautioned. "He doesn't take kindly to strangers."

"He won't hurt me." She rolled her eyes as Trysten moved closer, slowly. He and Rhaegal's eyes met. They watched each other, and Trysten slowly moved his hand out to touch him. Rhaegal shrunk back from Trysten's hand, hissing at him and baring his dagger-like teeth.

"Relax. Relax. I'm not here to hurt you. You know that." Trysten said in a soothing voice, and moving closer again. Rhaegal seemed fascinated by the boy, watching him intently. When Trysten moved to touch him again, Rhaegal remained rooted to his spot, and allowed the boy to lay a hand on his head. He almost seemed to purr at Trystens touch as the boy ran his hand down her baby's neck across his spines and scales. She was at a loss for words. Trysten stood, smiling, completely engrossed with the dragon. She cleared her throat, and he snapped back to attention.

"That... That was incredible. I've never seen him so calm." She confessed. "How did you do that?" He shrugged.

"Animals just don't seem to mind me as much. I suppose dragons are no different."

She was astonished. Rhaegal had taken to Trysten incredibly quickly. Normally he would bite and hiss at strangers, but he seemed completely comfortable with Trysten. The two of them walked through the great pyramid, discussing what should be done to help the city's newly freed slaves. She considered him her best advisor on the subject, since he had labored as one, and knew their plight better than anyone.

_That evening_

Jhiqui was braiding her hair again. Dinner that evening had been uneventful. Her advisors had all been present. Daario had been making eyes at her all night, and Trysten and Jorah were nearly at each other's throats. The two didn't seem to get along at all. She sighed. The last thing she needed were her Queensguard at one another's throats.

Barristan had entered to give her a report of the day, but she hadn't quite been listening. She was too busy wondering why Trysten and Jorah hated each other.

"And so, your grace, the spears have been delayed" Barristan continued.

"Unfortunate Ser Barristan, but we'll have to manage. How do my knights fair?" She asked curious of the wise knight's assessment.

"They have a long ways to go, your grace. Though they are learning fast. There are no finer teachers than Silverside Marines, and I believe Trysten mentioned contacting a unit of Rangers stationed in the area."

"I see. Tell me Ser Barristan, do you trust him?"

"Trust him, your grace?" Ser Barristan seemed taken aback by the question.

"Do you trust him? Ser Jorah seems to hate him." She explained. A look of understanding crossed Ser Barristan's face.

"Ser Jorah mistrusts the boy because of his father's actions. I will remind you that many feel the same about you, but you are not your father, nor is he. Besides, he seems to be a good enough lad. He treats his men well and is teaching his squires well, and he's utterly devoted to you." She raised an eyebrow in surprise. She knew Trysten was loyal, but she wasn't convinced of Ser Barristan's assessment. The old knight recognized her confusion, and elaborated.

"You mean you didn't know?" Ser Barristan seemed surprised. "Trysten's been working practically nonstop for you. He hardly sleeps. According to Ser Daven he stays up practically all night surveying maps and numbers and plans. He oversees the unsullied with Grey Worm, he trains with the second sons, all the while singing your praises." Barristan was right. She had no idea of Trysten's actions. "There' never been a more loyal servant. The Fadyns are proud, even to a fault some say. But they're loyal. The gods know that. Lord Trysten more so than the rest. He was a member of the second sons, he grew up among Silversides and Rangers, not to mention under his father's wing. I've heard enough stories and seen enough to believe he's as capable a commander and fighter as they say, and he's a noble lad. Those Vale lords always are, with their morals as high and lofty as their homes. A boy like that, he's seen his share of leaders, he knows who make good ones, and who doesn't. He wouldn't follow anyone without good reason." She nodded, and Jhiqui said something unintelligible behind her.

"I'd trust him with my life your grace, and besides" Ser Barristan continued "we need him. The Fadyn's are a powerful family, and they have ships and men, two things we sorely need. Trysten's a good boy. A kind boy. He's been through quite a bit, and to have suffered what he has already, and still be the man he is... Well... It's a feat in itself."


	16. Chapter 15

_Author's Note: Hi guys! I know this update has been a really long time coming. To be honest I got caught up in the swing of things and for a while I thought this story was just going to have to stay on the backburner or was just abandoned, but seeing as I've got a bit more free time lately I thought I'd try to start it up again. I'm certainly a bit rusty, so this chapter may be a bit awkward but hopefully I'll be able to find it again and pick up where we left off. As usual, please drop a review or a PM if you liked it, if you didn't, or if you have anything to say about it at all, and they're always good encouragement to keep going if you're all still interested. Still trying to find the characters again so this chapter is just Iagan. Anyways, enjoy!_

_Iagan_

He sat in the gardens, his cloak billowing behind him. It was midday. Margaery was supposed to have met him for practice that morning, but she was nowhere to be found. He had taken Comet for a ride around the vineyards, shot a bit, but now was at a loss for a way to occupy himself. He considered searching for her, but he was sure whatever she was doing was important. _These wars don't run themselves_. He thought, and a moment of shame darkened his mood on the otherwise pleasant day. Men were risking their lives while he continued to lounge around here, literally resting on laurels. He enjoyed it in Highgarden, to be certain, but he missed the thrill of the open air, the feeling of freedom that came when he was in the treetops, moving from branch to branch.

He grimaced. There hadn't been much of that. Probably wouldn't be for some time with his leg in the state it was. It was healing well, quickly even if the Maesters were to be believed, but not fast enough for his liking. He could fight well enough, ride, but still was unable to achieve the balance he needed to move swiftly and silently through the trees. _I'll have to repay Clegane for that._ He thought darkly. That was something he'd look forward to. The bastard had taken his unit from him. Eighty loyal men and friends cut down by that monstrous prick. _He serves the Lannisters, its about time someone repaid a debt._

He was listening carefully to the servants and soldiers as they passed. Apparently the recent buzz was about Margaery's betrothal to Joffrey. The wedding was nearing. He dismissed it all as rumors. The Tyrell's were firmly behind Robb now. Surely word had leaked out that they sent the warning. They wouldn't dare ally themselves with the Lannisters now.

He could hear the sound of footsteps approaching, the shoes clicking on the stone paths of the garden on the other side of the hedge, nearing him. Margaery's familiar face turned the corner. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she was clearly upset.

"Margaery are you all right?" He asked before she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"I don't want to talk about it. I need to get out of here. Come with me on a ride?" She asked.

"Oh. Um, yeah, sure I guess" he said, startled by her curt demeanor. They walked in silence to the stables, saddling their horses. He passed a quick carrot to Comet, who munched on it happily, and gave his pale grey flank a quick pat before climbing into the saddle alongside Margaery, who rode a spotted white and black mare.

They didn't speak until they were well outside the walls of Highgarden, even out of its vast vineyards.

"Where are we going?" Iagan asked, trying to start the conversation. For someone who hated talking to people so much, he was undoubtedly uncomfortable with the silence.

"Just a quiet place. I thought you might like it." Margaery responded.

"Well that was wonderfully vague." Iagan muttered in semi-serious annoyance, before catching a sidelong glance of amusement out of Margaery's eyes and shutting up. He guided Comet along behind Margaery's horse, following her as they entered a calm wood. Wind rustled the branches of the trees as the leaves rocked and swayed and turned. The forest floor was dappled in patches of sunlight where the occasional wildflower sprouted along a worn game trail they followed. Soon, they came to a small clearing, bathed in sunlight. Tall grasses swayed in the wind and the field was away in multicolored wildflowers. Iagan brought Comet to a stop, taking it all in as Margaery continued to canter her horse into the meadow.

"Margaery..." he paused, searching for words "what is this place?"

"Just a place Loras and I found when we were younger. We used to imagine it was our secret hideaway. Now, I just like to come here to think." She answered, dropping out of her saddle and kneeling in the long grass. "Come on." She called.

"Think about what-" he began before another steely look told him not to press the matter. He was learning. This time it had only taken a few angry glares to get him to realize to shut his mouth and drop it. How did people deal with this social stuff? _It's exhausting._ He thought exasperated.

"Let's just sit and enjoy the sun." Margaery suggested after a long silence, and Iagan gratefully thanked her mentally for forgiving his obliviousness. She was obviously upset about something. He climbed out of the saddle, joining her in the grass. It was soft, a sort of cushion as bees buzzed around the wildflowers and somewhere in the woods off behind him a robin whistled.

The rest of the afternoon passed rather uneventfully. They talked a bit, he even got her to laugh again. It was good. But he couldn't shake the shadow that was hanging over him.

"I have to go." He said, breaking the silence after a moment of laughter. A look of confusion crossed Margaery's face.

"Go? Go where?" She turned, questioning him.

"Go. Go back. I can't stay here in Highgarden. I need to get back to the Rangers. To my men. I can't stay here while other men are risking their lives. I cant keep wasting time here." Margaery looked down, for lacking a response. She shook her head slightly, almost imperceptibly, saying something so quietly he could barely hear it.

"No... you cant." It was almost a whisper, but his attuned hearing picked up on it.

"What?"

"You can't." She said, a bit louder now.

"What?" He said. Still dumbstruck. He didn't understand. His leg was almost healed. He could run and fight and shoot and ride. He didn't need to be completely adept in the trees again. It would come back. "Why not?" He questioned, his voice rising angrily. Didn't she understand he wasn't meant to be here? Him, of all people, in Highgarden? **Staying** in Highgarden? Was she mad?

"You just can't." She said, her doe eyes trying to plead with him to understand. Oh. So that's what it was. He was a prisoner.

"So that's it then." He said quietly. He raised his voice. "So that's what this was. I was an idiot to believe this." He gestured angrily. "Tell me, when were you planning on selling me to the Lannisters? What deal have they cut with you now? What? Tell me?" He shouted.

"No, Iagan, its not like that" Margaery pleaded, her eyes tearing up again.

"It's not? It's not? Then what is it? What? Tell me!" He was shouting now, furious.

"I can't. Iagan please, you're being unreasonable just listen! You don't understand!" Her voice was rising.

"I'm being unreasonable? You mean to keep me here as a prisoner! Tell me, how much did they offer for me? Or are you still set on getting your damn wish to be on that fucking throne? I knew it! I knew I couldn't trust you all. You damn Tyrells and your bloody ambitions. Seven Hells I should've seen this coming. You're just a bunch of backstabbing traitors! You don't care about me. You don't care about anyone but yourself and sitting on that damned throne. And I was fool enough to trust you! Hell, I even let myself think I had feelings for you!" He screamed over her pleas, enraged at her betrayal. Comet brayed, agitated by his master's distress and cantering over to him. Margaery paused at the last statement, silent, a look of surprise on her flawless face.

Suddenly, Iagan was aware of the intense silence over the entire clearing. It was as if the entire forest had held its breath to bare witness to his outburst. And then the magnitude of what he had just said sunk in.

"Iagan..." Margaery said, almost gently. He did his best to steel his feeling to the venom she no doubt was lacing her words with, trying to ensnare him. "Iagan you what?" She prodded, as if she hadn't heard him. He turned away, trying to mask the hurt on his face. It was all on the table now, wasn't it? A tear trickled down his cheek as he tried to hide the shame of his feelings. He whistled, and Comet trotted up next to him as he mounted.

"Iagan, no. What are you doing?" Margaery asked, sounding desperate. He had never seen her appear this weak. She was a good actress. She almost seemed concerned, trying to draw him back in.

"I'm going. You can't stop me. Goodbye Margaery." He said, before kicking Comet's flanks and spurring him into a run from the clearing. He saw Margaery collapse to the ground, her face in her hands as she called after him, half-heartedly to stop.

He had ridden hard for nearly ten minutes, doing his best to outpace Margaery's calls for him to wait and come back before his rage and hurt subsided. Then, the calls took a very different tone. They became screaming. Iagan wheeled Comet around, bringing him to a halt as pebbles from the path skidded under his hooves, and listened. Margaery's voice was different now. Terrified. She no longer screamed his name. She was screaming for help.

What had he done? Margaery was alone in these unfamiliar woods and he had left her. She was in danger. He paused for a moment, assessing the threat. It could've been a trick. She could have armed guards waiting to drag him back kicking and screaming to Highgarden to await King Joffrey's "justice."

Or Margaery could actually be in danger. He weighed the two options.

_Seven Hells. That bloody woman. _He thought frustratedly, before spurring Comet into a full gallop back the way he had come.

He nearly rode right over the first man. There were seven of them, surrounding, Margaery who was still screaming, pinned up against a particularly large oak. The man had her hands pinned above her head while his other hand fumbled with his belt. Her dress was torn.

"Margaery!" Iagan shouted, trying to reassure her, but it must've sounded more terrified than confident. _I always said I wasn't suited to be the knight in shining armor._ He thought sarcastically. They were all heavily armed and scarred. Clearly ex-soldiers. Probably deserters. They were armed with an array of weapons, a halberd, axes, swords, and a crossbow bolt smacked into a tree next to him as he rode, trying to evaluate his route of attack. He mentally cursed himself for not bringing his full quiver, otherwise he could dispatch the deserters with ease. He had the two arrows he kept in either boot, his bow, and his sword, and he was hopelessly outmatched.

Within seconds the first arrow was hurtling down range, burying itself in one mans throat who collapsed to the ground, clutching at his neck and gurgling. Another embedded itself in the back of the crossbowman, before Iagan spurred Comet into the fray. The first man came at him with a sword, and a quick swing from Iagan's own blade parried his strike and split the man's unprotected skull, and he crumpled to the ground like one of Maerisa's dolls. Suddenly, he felt a strong pull on his back as he was dragged from the saddle by the halberdier, the long hook dragging him to the ground where he landed disoriented for a moment. He rolled, desperately avoiding a strike from a massive axe and hamstringing the culprit, driving his knife through the back of the man's neck as he rose to his feet, his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. The bandit who had been grabbing Margaery roared and charged him, spittle flying from his beard, his sword raised above his head. A bold move, but not a particularly smart one as Iagan threw his dagger, hitting the man in the chest, killing him. That left the Halberdier. The man had the range advantage on him, and Iagan couldn't risk closing the gap without getting in range of it's vicious spike. He had to end this quickly though, he was tiring and his leg was starting to give way. He lunged at the halberdier, doing his best to sidestep the blade. His bad leg gave out from under him and he slipped in a pool of blood, tumbling to the ground. In an instant the man was upon him, ready to deliver the killing blow. Iagan watched as he raised the polearm, ready to bring it down and finish him. He pictured his family one last time. The axe of the halberd came down. And clattered harmlessly to the ground. The man moaned and clutched at the center of his chest as some invisible weapon.

_The gods have saved me._ Iagan thought. _They've struck him down._ The man toppled over, and behind him stood Margaery, her hands bloody, her dress torn, her hair disheveled, her eyes red, and Iagan's dagger in the man's back. And she was absolutely beautiful. _Close enough._ He thought with a smile, before she fell to the ground sobbing. He scrambled to his knees, trying to comfort her.

"Are you alright? Did they hurt you?" He asked urgently, searching for any clear wounds, "Margaery? Are you hurt?" He interrogated, and she did her best to control her sobbing. "It's ok. I'm here. I've got you. I promise." He said, panting heavily, suddenly aware of the pain all over his body. "I'm not going anywhere."

"No. No, I'm fine" she said, managing to pull herself together and shaking her head, pulling herself tighter to him as he cradled her in his arms. After a few brief moments, she looked up at him.

"What you said earlier... Did you... Did you mean it?" She asked, uncertain before trailing off.

"No. I didn't mean it. I was just angry and confused. I promise, I won't leave. Sell me to the Lannisters, kill me, torture me, but I'll stay. I love you." She looked at him gratefully, and he thought he saw something in her eyes too.

"Iagan... I have something I have to tell you." She began.

"No, its ok. I know. I forgive you." He cut her off.

"No. Iagan, it's not that. You're free to go." She told him, and he paused, astonished at what he had heard. A thousand thoughts raced through his head. He was so certain. He was absolutely positive. And everything he had heard. And he had said, and oh gods he had made a complete fool of himself. He nearly got Margaery killed. She must've seen his horror and confusion.

"You can't go" she began, before collecting herself "you can't go because I need you. I need you with me." She told him. He could feel his heart racing. Maybe it was the adrenaline or maybe it was her. Did she really mean it? He did his best to stifle a grin which proved uncontrollable and he gave up, since everything was in the open now anyways. Her next words wiped it clean off his face.

"I have to go back to King's Landing. I have to go back to Joffrey."


	17. Chapter 16

_Author's Note: Hey guys, sorry again for the delay, I'd say I hope that I can update more frequently but right now this appears to be the pace, first semester of college can be rough on one's schedule, but hey hopefully a longer chapter compensates for it. As per usual, please let me know what you think of my portrayal of the characters and of the OCs, if you think something seems out of character for anyone, let me know! Finally, just as a quick disclaimer, things may be moving at slightly different paces within the story, please just bear with me as I catch them all up and don't think too much about what is conventionally contemporaneous with what. Anyways, regardless of the delay I hope you all are still enjoying and if you are don't be afraid to let me know! As usual, enjoy!_

_Theon_

Salt spray stung his face as the longboat cut through the waves. It was an overcast morning, and he had risen early. They would be arriving along the coast of the North now, the Rills. At that his pulse quickened a bit. The prospect of returning to the North agitated him, to his home, a traitor.

_No. Not a traitor._ He thought. _A free man. The last time I came here I was a hostage. A boy. Now I'm a man with a full longship of Ironborn at my back. _He thought. The prospect didn't calm him. He thought of his father. His blood still boiled at being told Asha would lead the invasion, not him. She was given a whole fleet, while all he was trusted with was a measly longship with the lowest scum of the Ironborn reavers. Barely even Ironborn, practically thralls.

Nevertheless they would do. They were brawlers and cutthroats, but they were his to command. Twenty-five Ironborn reavers, armed to the teeth and ready to do his bidding.

"My lord" Brant, the captain said, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm at the title "we'll be arriving on the coast shortly. What are your orders?" He asked with derision. Theon resisted the urge to run the man through. Despite his insolence, he was a strong fighter and the men followed him. He'd be needed.

"Our orders are to raid along the shoreline and draw attention away from Moat Cailin" Theon repeated, remembering his father's command. "We'll be sailing inland though." He stated bluntly, ignoring the idiot's look of confusion, satisfied at least.

A slight smirk crept across Theon's face as he stared across the black surf and grey clouds. He wouldn't be following his father's orders. He was after a much greater prize.

_Maerisa_

It had been a long journey. She had been riding for nearly two weeks after the wedding. Despite her insistence, Robb had sent her Northwards, through Moat Cailin and back to Winterfell.

"The battlefield is no place for a lady" he chastened.

"You let Dacey stay." She retorted, earning her a chuckle from Robb.

"And have you ever met a lady like Dacey?" He had her there. The woman was tougher than most of the men she knew, and might even have been able to best Trysten. Her heart sank at the thought of her lost brother. Nevertheless, Robb was relentless. He nearly had to have her forcibly removed from the tent. She had been furious, but he insisted that he already had his hands full with one Fadyn, Scipio, let alone two.

"Besides," he had countered "I need you to keep an eye on Talisa. Recent events have illustrated this may not be the best place for her." He said, alluding to the wedding's festivities.

"Why?" She had asked blindly. She was a fool not to have understood. Robb had simply smiled knowingly and told her to prepare for Winterfell.

And so here she was, riding alongside the Queen of the North through the gates of Winterfell. Talisa was a wonderful woman, and the two had grown close over their time together. She had eventually confided in her about Theon. It was nice to have another woman to talk to after so long surrounded by soldiers, and though Talisa worried constantly for Robb the journey was surprisingly pleasant. Tails was everything a Queen should be, kind, thoughtful, empathetic, and intelligent. After a hard day of riding they would often keep each other company, talking about everything from their families to home to the war. And eventually serving as one another's confidants, which was how Maerisa finally came to understand Robb's hint. The North would have an heir soon. Talisa had yet to show any visible signs, and so Maerisa had to be one of the few people in the Seven Kingdoms who knew, but news would spread quickly.

They had been escorted by a small contingent of Rangers and Robb's retinue. She knew they would be leaving once they arrived at Winterfell. They had been given orders to hunt down Ramsay Bolton, who had raised his father's banner in rebellion, torching villages throughout the North. She had never seen Winterfell before, but she couldn't help but be awed by it's magnitude. It was true fortress, larger than Star's Reach. It had foregone the elegance of Star's Reach in favor of blunt pragmatism, and although home was generally counted as one of the most impregnable strongholds in all of the Seven Kingdoms, Winterfell would be a tough nut to crack. Its huge towers looked out imposingly onto the moors and fields surrounding it, and a small town sheltered under it's massive walls. She urged Thunder forward as they passed through the thick stone walls under the portcullis and into the courtyard. She could only imagineTrysten's intimidation when he had arrived here for the first time, only a boy and alone in a foreign keep.

Stark guards greeted them politely and asked them to wait. She took the time to examine to citadel more closely. The keep was large and made of thick, grey stone, and despite its cold outer shell and pragmatism, it felt homely. The smell of baking bread wafted through the air and the clang of a hammer on metal from the blacksmith echoed off the walls. Although the castle felt somewhat deserted, people still went about their daily business. Soldiers were drilling in the courtyard and patrolling the ramparts, a small garrison to be sure, but with a fortress like this she was certain they would suffice. Peeking over the walls of the castle she could see the leaves of the Godswood, crimson and coated in frost.

"Please, my queen, my lady, this way." A guardsman beckoned them into the open door of the keep into the great hall. She hugged her cloak closer around her and dismounted, handing Thunder's reigns to a stableboy, grateful to be out of the autumn chill. Inside the hall a series of hearths kept the stone room comfortably heated, and servants bustled about their business as she followed Talisa. Sitting in the Lord's seat at the head of the room was a young boy, probably no older than his eleventh or twelfth name day, and with him was a man, clearly a Maester, talking in low voices and studying a map, seemingly oblivious to their entry. Talisa cleared her throat, gaining their attention. The boy studied her for a moment, then greeted her warmly.

"Queen Talisa I presume?" She nodded, a warm smile on her face. "Sister, welcome." The boy said, doing his best to sound formal.

"Lord Bran. Robb has told me so much about you." She said, approaching the seat. "And you must be Maester Luwin. It's a pleasure to meet you." She stated sincerely, extending her hand.

"Welcome to Winterfell my queen. And to you as well Lady Maerisa. Allow us to show you to your chambers. We can discuss formalities and arrangements over dinner." Luwin stated, guiding them out, followed by Brandon Stark, riding on a huge man. _That's right, _Maerisa recalled, _Jaime Lannister paralyzed his legs. _

_Trysten_

He had spent the morning training Ian and Alekim. The two learned quickly, and were already adept at swordsmanship, though Alekim's horsemanship was seriously lacking, the boy had nearly tumbled out of his saddle the first time he rode, and stated he was deathly afraid of horses, much to Trysten's dismay.

Life in the Great Pyramid was trying though. He hadn't slept well in weeks, and it was beginning to show. He was exhausted. He had spent most of his time alternating between attending council meetings with the Queen, training his squires, and doing his best to prepare Daenerys for her journey back to Westeros. He needed to get out. Finally, after pleading with the Queen for the last week and constantly petitioning her, she allowed him out of the pyramid to travel the streets.

Today, he was accompanied by Ser Barristan Selmy, Grey Worm, and a number of unsullied. Last night two more unsullied had been murdered by the sons of the harpy, and it was their duty to track down the killers. As they walked through the grand Bazaar of Mereen he couldn't help but feel slightly at odds with the city. Former slaves parted politely, some even recognizing him and giving polite nods, and masters scurried away. The bazaar was bustling as merchants peddled wares ranging from fine cloth and rugs dyed a thousand colors to exotic foods and spices, weapons and armor. Despite all the commotion, something still seemed amiss.

"So why did you come to join the Queen?" Ser Barristan asked mildly, making small talk as they marched. "I mean you could have simply served as Robb Stark's envoy. There must be something more there."

"It's a rather long story." Trysten replied. He wasn't quite ready to discuss his father's dying command. The knight looked at him quizzically for a moment, then dismissed the matter.

"You know he doesn't trust you." Barristan interjected.

"Who?"

"Ser Jorah. He's unsure of your intentions."

"And what am I to do about that?"

"Prove your loyalty. I learned early on when I joined her Grace, and saw it firsthand with Robert and Aerys, you'll never get anything done if your advisors mistrust each other."

"Well that's hardly my fault," he responded defensively, "after all he's the one who accused me of being a traitor."

"Ser Jorah's thoughts are confused. He loves her Grace, more than any other man I know, and he would die for her. He certainly doesn't like the idea of losing his favor with the Queen."

"I've been meaning to ask, Ser Barristan, and please understand that I'm grateful" he paused, unsure of what to say, "why me? I'm certain her Grace has men lining up to serve her, but she accepted my offer. Obviously Ser Jorah didn't speak for me, and Daario had yet to even join the company when I served, so how did you convince her? What did you see in me?"

Ser Barristan remained silent for a moment, as if considering his next words. He looked at Trysten, seeming to assess him, and for a moment Trysten felt profoundly exposed, as if the old veteran's piercing gaze suddenly could see into his soul. It was the look of a hardened warrior, and a friend and councillor.

"if her Grace is ever going to return to the Seven Kingdoms, she'll do so with serious opposition. She's not going to be welcomed by the smallfolk, no matter what that sycophant Illyrio told her brother, and she's going to need allies. She'll need someone powerful, who can back her claim. Men, horses, ships. She'll need the support of the great houses, the Starks for one." He stated bluntly.

"Ah," said Trysten, a little disappointed, "so I'm a political ally."

"But," said Barristan, cutting him off and dropping behind from the main group, "she doesn't know the country. She's been away since she was a babe, she's out of touch. I'm sure you can agree she's an amazing woman, and the gods know she has no trouble finding support with the common folk… But if she's ever going to sit on the Iron Throne she's going to have to win a war, and convince men to follow her, and to do that, she's going to need someone who can lead men and inspire them to follow, someone who can command, and she's going to need someone to guide her. Someone who's name inspires loyalty and greatness. Look around you Trysten. Who does she have? Ser Jorah? The man would die for her, but he'll never be able to inspire loyalty, not as a slaver, not in the Seven Kingdoms. He's serving her as best he knows, but when it comes time for her to cross the narrow sea, I fear he may be more a hinderance than a help," He explained. "Daario? A sellsword? All he understands is glory, women, and gold, and the Lords will never follow him, he's too crude. Grey Worm can never be a friend to her, and he's not the warmest fellow, though he's certainly a match for any Westerosi knight."

"But that's why you're here!" Trysten pointed out. "You're the great Ser Barristan Selmy. I grew up listening to stories about you from my wet-nurse. You're practically a legend. You've served three kings. Who could be better?" Ser Barristan sighed, and for a moment sounded not like a legendary knight, but a tired, aged man, his gaze fixed ahead at some unseen point.

"The longer we spend in this city, the more certain I am that I will not be returning to Westeros with her Grace" he said cryptically. "I'm not a young man anymore, and I've begun to think that I will not be crossing the narrow sea again."

Trysten was unsure of what to say, and continued in silence until the Knight continued.

"That's why I spoke for you. She'll need men like you."

"Men like me? I'm no legend. I can't do the thing's you've done or inspire the way you can. I'm not great."

"Not yet perhaps" the old knight chuckled, the scales on his armor catching the sunlight. "But maybe one day. I see greatness in you Trysten Fadyn. One day, perhaps, and when that day comes, Daenerys will need you by her side."

As their small contingent marched through the master's quarter of the city the atmosphere changed once more. Scrawled on the walls could be seen the signs of the sons of the Harpy, and every alleyway seemed to be coated in blood red paint and messages denouncing the foreign invader. He did his best to pay this no mind, but his hand absentmindedly trailed to Dawn bringer's hilt. He was glad he wore his armor.

The patrol ended when they reached a small house in one of the districts in the shadow of the Great Pyramid. They had been informed that the Sons of the Harpy were using it as a weapons depot. They lined up along the wall, doing their best to stay quiet. Tryster took up a position in front of the door, making sure that the rest had his rear. On Ser Barristan's signal, he kicked in the door, storming in with Dawnbringer at the ready, scanning the room for threats, but it was empty. The rest of the men followed him in, searching for any weapons. They checked under the beds and in the cabinets, but the room was totally empty. They milled around in confusion, searching for a hidden compartment or a secret wall, but there was nothing. Then, a smell of smoke crept into the room, and understanding flashed across Ser Barristan's face.

"Ambush! Get out!" He shouted, rushing from the room with his sword at the ready. Outside, it was just as he predicted. The alley was completely blocked by a horde of Sons of the Harpy, the sun reflecting off their golden, emotionless masks. Trysten followed him, shield up, deflecting a crossbow bolt shot from a nearby window and driving it into the nearest Harpy, sending the man crashing backwards into his comrades and buying time for the Unsullied to form ranks in the narrow alleyway, interlocking their shields as he and Barristan backed towards the flanks, knowing their role in this fight. The Harpies and Unsullied squared off, and there was a surreal pause as the two sides assessed the other, waiting for one to make the first move.

The Harpies struck first, as another crossbow bolt, probably from a lone man, smashed into one of the Unsullied's helmets, knocking him unconscious, and as he crumpled the Harpies rushed into the Unsullied, capitalizing on the broken formation. Grey Worm caught two on his spear as the rushed in, shoving them back and trying to keep them at bay. Another Unsullied struck out, his spear plunging through one of the Harpies thin cloth robes, blood spilling out from the mouth in his mask, and the man toppled over.

The Unsullied were geared towards this sort of fight, and might have been expected to hold out against such overwhelming numbers. However, the Harpies were relentless, and the Unsullied began to tire. One slipped past their guard, burying his long dagger in the throat of one Unsullied and hacking to either side, his dagger scraping off Grey Worm's armor, and as he moved to combat this threat the formation broke, the fight devolving into a brawl. Trysten smashed a mailed fist into the mask of one Harpy, shattering it and sending him reeling to the street, his head cracking on the slick stones. He slashed at another, connecting with the man's chest and Dawnbringer coming away dripping blood. He tried to locate Ser Barristan and Grey Worm in the chaos, but found that for every Harpy he struck down, two more took his place and he was hard pressed to defend himself, let alone find his comrades. Two more rushed him, and as he slashed through the wrist of the first, sending his curved blade clattering to the pavement the other barreled into him shoulder-first, sending them both sprawling to the street. Dawnbringer slid just out of reach and Trysten was left grappling with the man desperately, preventing him from plunging a vicious looking dagger through his breastplate and into his heart. Suddenly, the man coughed blood and toppled off him, Grey Worm's spear through his side, and Trysten rolled out and grabbed his sword, already slippery with blood. As he struck down another Harpy, he surveyed his surroundings. The narrow alley had bought them time, and the Harpies had taken heavy losses, he counted more than nine bodies strewn on the cobblestones, but three Unsullied also lay still. A slash had incapacitated Grey Worm, and he leaned heavily on his spear, attempting to avoid putting weight on his leg, and Ser Barristan was hard pressed by three men, and as he struck the second down, the third's saber hit him in the side, slicing through his armor and coming away wet with blood. Ser Barristan staggered back, and another Harpy pressed him hard as he desperately deflected blows. Trysten charged, driving his shoulder into the man from the side and knocking him into the wall, and Trysten hacked at his shoulder, cleaving the man who dropped to the ground, dead, his gold mask splattered with blood.

The Harpy's onslaught was losing momentum, and the few remaining Harpies faltered, and after he and Grey Worm dropped others, fleeing into the streets. Tryster considered pursuing them, but after seeing the state of his men decided against it. Ser Barristan was losing blood fast, and Grey Worm was too busy attending to his men to help.

"You! Grab me something to stop the bleeding!" Trysten demanded of one of the Unsullied, who ran into the house, coming back with an armful of cloth. Trysten pressed it to the wound, doing his best to staunch the blood flowing from the old knight's side. His breathing grew shallow and labored, and he was turning pale quickly as blood soaked through the thin cloth.

"Find a healer! Anyone!" He commanded, frantically working to stem the crimson tide and close the wound. His time on the battlefield had shown him more than his fair share of battle wounds, and his time with the Second Sons had taught him at least some basic first aid. He had his work cut out for him though, and the old knight was fading quickly.

_Iagan_

He had been absolutely stunned. Go back to Joffrey? The sadistic, mad, little shit? He had even nearly flat-out told her that she couldn't go. But he knew Margaery, and knew that there would be no stopping her. In the end, all he could do was make sure she was safe.

"I need you to come with me." She had confided in him.

"Why me?" He was perplexed, though not entirely opposed to the idea of spending more time with her.

"The gods only know what the Lannister's will do if it's discovered that we aided the Starks. They can't know that we stopped Tywin's plot, and Joffrey is practically mad. I need someone who I know I can trust. Besides, it puts you in a fantastic position to aid Robb. His sister is still in King's Landing, and who knows what information you can glean."

"But my men" he began, noticeable perturbed by the prospect of going to King's Landing.

"Will thank you for your service to Robb. I remind you the Tyrell's haven't declared for him yet, nor will they. You want to aid the war effort, then I need you with me, where you can do the most good."

Iagan had lain awake nearly all night, considering it. Margaery and her train were due to leave at daybreak the next morning to return to King's Landing. He hated the idea of being cramped up inside a city, surrounded by people and brick and stone and steel. But then his thoughts drifted to Margaery, her hair, her smile, her voice, and thought of all the danger she would be in. If the Lannister caught wind of their deception she would be executed as a traitor. And the thought of her marrying that inbred little shit… He hated it.

Eventually, he got sick of tossing and turning, and decided he needed to clear his head. Well before daybreak he packed his things and rode out of the gates of Highgarden, onto the Rose Road. He swayed steadily in Comet's saddle, listening to the sounds of the forest and the wind rustling through the orchards. He remained there nearly all night, contemplating what to do, standing at the crossroads. He could return to the army, rejoin the Rangers, or he could take a much more dangerous path to King's Landing.

At midmorning he heard the familiar clatter of hooves on the road and could make out mild conversation. He spurred Comet into the orchard, considering what to do and watching the train go by. In front rode two Tyrell retainers, carrying the Tyrell banners fluttering mildly in the breeze, while servants and guards milled about the carriages and walked or rode alongside them. As the first carriage went by, he caught sight of Margaery's chestnut curls. Her eyes were rimmed red, and it looked as though she had been crying, though knowing Margaery she would never let anyone see her.

_Damn that girl. _He thought exasperatedly. He knew what he had to do, though he didn't like it.

_Well I might as well have some fun with it. _He thought mischievously. _No sense in letting the entire baggage train know I'll be joining them. _

He trailed the train most of the morning, keeping Comet cantering alongside but out of sight. The train came to a small bend in the road, and he took it as his opportunity. When the first of the retinue had passed out of sight and the carriage blocked the view of the rearguard he joined the column, pulling Comet up next to the carriage on the opposite side of Margaery, and in a fluid motion opened the door and sat alongside her.

"If you're going to King's Landing, you really should hire some decent protection. Won't do to have all sorts of riff-raff sneaking about." He said lightly, and Margaery stiffened in surprise. Suddenly, his face was stinging and he was reeling from a vicious slap.

"Damn you Iagan! You scare me half to death, leaving in the night like that, then sneak in here and do it again for the sake of a joke! You bastard!"

"Not anymore" he corrected, "glad to see you too" retaining his usual sarcasm and massaging his face which was rapidly growing red.

Margaery rolled her eyes and scoffed, doing her best to remain angry with him, though he could tell she was struggling.

"Besides if I'm coming with you" he paused, letting it sink in and relishing the look of relief she tried to conceal, "then I had to be certain I was up to top form."

"Ah so he is joining us." Came a voice from the other side of the carriage. He nearly jumped out of his seat he was so startled.

"L-Lady Olenna" he said, doing his best to compose himself, ignoring Margaery's poor effort to conceal her giggling at his expense. Lady Olenna chuckled.

"The Ranger's think they're the only ones who can go unnoticed. No one ever sees a poor old woman when they don't look." He silently berated himself. How had he not noticed Olenna sitting in the carriage? If he was going to survive King's Landing he couldn't let himself be distracted by Margaery.

"So you will be joining us then." Olenna said matter-of-factly. "Well I must say I look forward to seeing the famed Ranger stealth, though I do ask you refrain from tormenting my granddaughter." She chastened him, and he and Margaery exchanged a quick glance. He thought he caught a brief smile, and for a moment his heart stopped.

_Gods I wish I knew how she felt._

"Uhm, yes, my Lady." He said, suddenly lacking words.

"Well come on now let me get a look at you." She commanded, appraising him. "Well I suppose he'll do. My congratulations, by the way, on your recent elevation. Not a bastard anymore, though something tells me that doesn't mean you'll suddenly act like a proper little Lord."

Iagan smirked. "I think if you wanted a proper little lord you wouldn't be going to Joffrey."

"No. Perhaps not. Though I wonder if you'll be able to keep your wits about you in King's Landing." He could see he was being tested.

"Now tell me, Lord Iagan, why exactly are you coming with us. You've put my granddaughter and I in a very precarious position already, with your little trick with the letter. I daresay you may make a name for yourself. So why should we let you join us? The seven only know what they would do to you if you were discovered, let alone if we were."

"Because you need protection." He asserted. Lady Olenna scoffed.

"Protection? My dear boy if that's why you've come you're more a fool than I thought. I'm certain my grandson and our retinue would be more than sufficient for 'protection.' Though a noble ambition, and I admire your devotion to our cause…" she paused, looking at Margaery pointedly, who almost indiscernibly blushed "I think accompanying us may be putting us in more danger than its worth." He could tell he was now on the defensive.

"Not physical protection, my lady. You said yourself you're in a precarious position. You need someone who can slip by unnoticed. Who can work in the alleyways and behind the scenes, and I'm certain you know a careful word or a covert letter or valuable information can be worth more than any number of swords." He replied. "I've found, in life, if you want to go unnoticed its best not to act like a lord. Keep your head low. No one ever notices a bastard."

"Not in King's Landing. Lord Baelish and the Spider have spies everywhere. You'll be closely followed. Not to mention Cersei."

"Only if I'm conventional." He retorted. "Only if they can keep track of me. You want information. You'll have it. I may not have spies but you'd be amazed how often people forget to look up, and how effective an arrow in the dark can be, when loosed at the right target. Besides, I'm the one who's put you in this position, it's my duty to make sure you don't regret it and keep you safe." He cast a sidelong glance at Margaery. He hoped she understood.

Olenna paused, staring him down, and he did his best to meet the iron in her gaze.

"Well done lad. Perhaps he is cleverer than we anticipated. Maybe he can hold his own here after all." Olenna conceded, relaxing slightly. "But remember this Lord Iagan, if you put my granddaughter or I in any sort of compromising position, we can't afford to protect you. Tread lightly. I hear you Rangers are known for that."


	18. Chapter 17

_Author's Note: Hey guys! Thanks so much for the support and the interest expressed after the last chapter. It's good to know the story still has such a strong following after such a long hiatus. As usual, I apologize for the delay, hitting some writers block but hopefully I'm past it. Hopefully you're all still enjoying it, please let me know what you think- questions, comments, concerns, personal attacks- in the reviews. As I mentioned earlier the chronology may be slightly off so I'm doing my best to catch all the elements up to one another, so this may be a shorter chapter. As usual, enjoy!_

_Daenerys_

She did her best to appear strong. It seemed as though the entire city was gathered before her, it wouldn't do to show weakness. The Harpies would capitalize on that. She needed to be strong. She was the blood of the dragon, and the dragon would not weep. Fire and blood. That was the Targaryen way, and she would not forget it.

To her left stood Trysten, ever vigilant, flanked by his two squires. His armor, normally polished and glimmering, looked drab and dusty, bearing long scratches and dents. Despite having washed, he still looked ragged, his red hair falling in grimy knots. His eyes were raw, and he looked as though he hadn't slept, though they scanned the crowds for threats, his face marked by bruises and scratches from the brawl. Nevertheless, he looked determined, his hand gripping tightly around the hilt of his sword, even with Cinder standing somberly at attention. A small smile crept across her features as she recalled how similar he looked to the first time he met. Ser Jorah stood alongside him, his heavy steel armor shrouded in a black cloak. He caught her gaze for a moment and seeing her glance to Trysten, scowled slightly. Dario absentmindedly ran his hand over his sword hilts, glancing out over the crowd and doing his best to maintain interest. Grey Worm as always stood still as a statue, at attention and ready for any command, and alongside him, Missandei stood quietly, her eyes focused on the crowd in front of them.

"My queen," Jorah began somberly, "it's time." That pulled her back to her senses. She took a deep breath and collected herself, walking calmly to the edge of the platform as thousands of her subjects gazed up at her. She scanned the faces for a moment, seeing men, women, and children. Some gazed up at her with curiosity, hope, or admiration. From others she received only downward glances, glares, and scowls.

"People of Mereen" she began, raising her voice, and the crowd fell silent. "For generations, you have lived as slaves. You have felt the sting of the whip and the heel of the boot." She stated, her voice carrying across the plaza, echoing through the streets. It was as if the city had stopped.

"But no more! No. You, the people of Mereen, deemed it time to break your chains and remove your shackles. You, the people of Mereen, overthrew the masters. You stood courageously, warriors against tyranny, against oppression." She paused, letting her words sink in. "And now," she said, gesturing behind her to the structure, "we mourn one such warrior." At this she glanced back at the pyre, Ser Barristan resting upon it, his sword clutched on his chest, the old knight finally at peace. She caught a sob in her throat and mustered up the courage to keep going.

"Today we mourn Ser Barristan Selmy, the greatest knight to have ever lived. Ser Barristan served as an unflinching defender of the weak and righteous. He offered mercy for cruelty. He returned wrath with patience" her voice rose as she built momentum, her emotions taking hold. "He offered strength for the weak. He practiced love for hate, righteousness for intolerance, justice against corruption, and integrity against deceit and cowardice! Yesterday, Ser Barristan was murdered, murdered fighting for your cause. People of Mereen, look upon your fallen hero, see the man martyred for your own freedom and protection! See him and ask yourselves, for what purpose? Why does such a noble hero lie dead? People of Mereen, I have your answer! He believed! He believed in this city! He believed in the people, the Masters, and the Slaves. He believed in honor, justice, mercy, and compassion, and yesterday, he was murdered by the very people he sought to protect! So ask yourselves, people of Mereen, what will you do? Will you stand idly by as everything he fought for is wiped away by hate and intolerance? Will he have died for nothing?! Or will you act? Will you take your fate into your own hands?" The crowd began to murmur as her words swept over them like a wave of fervor.

"People of Mereen!" She shouted, her voice rising above the clamor, "Stand with me! Stand with me and know that Ser Barristan's sacrifice is not in vain! Know that I will not let this city slide back into the hell it was before. And to those who stand against us, know this! I will not let you stand in the way of progress. I will not let you hold this city hostage, and rule over its people with fear and knives in the dark. I will not let you drag this city back down! So you have a choice. Live, in this new world, or die in your old one, but this, will, STOP!" She threatened. The crowd was silent as she turned and took a torch from Jorah, lighting Ser Barristan's funeral pyre. Acrid smoke billowed out from under his white cloak, and the heat from the pyre and from the midday sun stung her face. She turned away, trying to conceal a tear from the crowd, who was on their feet now, paying their respects. She had no idea if her words had struck home. Flames licked at the old knight's grey hair and armor, and smoke shrouded him as the flames consumed him. His sword glowed white hot.

The crowd began to disperse, and from the corner of her eye she could see her retinue relax slightly. Dust and smoke whirled around her as the plaza emptied, people returning to their business.

_Damn this city._ She thought bitterly.

_Iagan_

The Red Keep loomed large on the horizon, its massive stone walls towering over the city below it. Legend said it was the blood of Maegor the cruel which dyed its stones the blood red color that earned it its name.

_King Maegor was a cruel, paranoid man. Within the walls of his fortress he designed a veritable labyrinth of secret passages and tunnels. And to seal their secrecy, he executed all those who built them, their blood staining the stones to this day. _He remembered in the words of his Maester.

His thoughts drifted to his home. It had been so long since he had returned to Star's Reach. Not since before the war. He remembered wandering the great halls and corridors of the keep with his father, running through the Godswood with Marius, testing his skills among the merchants district, climbing along rooftops and scurrying among the docks. He felt a stab of sadness at the thought of Marius and his father. The pains of war.

By comparison, the Red Keep was an ugly, jagged thing. Whereas the walls of the fortress at Star's Reach towered high, their white limestone and marble reaching towards the stars that gave the city its name, the Red Keep seemed to drag everything around it down. Whereas Star's Reach's elegant towers and walls projected, grace, nobility, and power, the Red Keep seemed imposing. It seemed to sit upon the city as a man standing with his sword at another's throat, beating it down and projecting an iron will and power. It was a blight upon the horizon, the smog and haze of the city drifting like tendrils of shadow towards the sky. Iagan shuddered. The Red Keep was much larger than Star's Reach, but he still held any army assaulting Star's Reach would have just as hard a time of it. Despite the elegant exterior, Star's Reach was a near impossible nut to crack.

_If you're going to build a fortress you might as well build it to look like something you don't incessantly __**want**__ to tear down. _He thought sarcastically.

However, despite being one of the largest ports in the Vale, Star's Reach paled in comparison to the size of King's Landing. Massive galleons and merchantmen sailed up and down the blackwater, flanked by a variety of fishermen, darting around the larger vessels like sparrows around an eagle. He could hear the sounds of the city as he approached, the sort of dull roar of a population going about its business. The tile roofs of the city loomed up behind the thick stone walls, and smoke from an assortment of bakers, merchants, inns, and blacksmiths all mingled in the early morning air. As he approached, he felt his pulse quicken, a sort of ice in his chest spreading.

He hated cities.

This city was particularly bad. He would be in constant danger. One could only assume his head would be on a pike the next day if his identity was discovered. His eyes strained to spot any green within the city walls, but he was disappointed. He hated the feeling of stone and mortar under his feet, the crushing sensation of a thousand years worth of sickness, soot, stone, and human misery surrounding him. Nothing about this city appealed to him. He could see banners of the Lannister draped on the city walls and flying from the ramparts. Taunting him. Fine.

_Keep your wretched city. _He though spitefully. _And it smells like shit, too._

_Later_

The convoy had finally reached the gates. Iagan spurred Comet forward, coming alongside Margaery and Olenna's carriage. The Tyrell matriarch gave him a curt nod. Margaery caught his gaze for a moment, her eyes expressing a mixture of concern and anticipation. He could have sworn he could hear her chiding voice.

_Be safe, Iagan._

His hand drifted to his sword's hilt, resting at his side as they neared the gate, the Lannister guards standing at attention. He moved to conceal himself under his cloak, to hide his presence, before realizing his mistake. He had hidden his Ranger cloak. It would only allow them to identify him as a foe. To wear it in the open like this would do the opposite of deflecting attention elsewhere. For the hundredth time that day, Iagan felt acutely alone and exposed.

Comet cantered alongside the carriage, and Iagan held his breath as they passed under the massive stone gate into the city. The guards eyes seemed to track him.

_Act normal. Act like a normal servant, a guard, a retainer. Act normal. _He kept repeating, his breath shallow. _Fuck, how do normal people act?_ He thought with a twinge of annoyance.

In the end, he decided upon a polite nod, and passed alongside the convoy unmolested, Comet casually cantering through the gates. He was in. Now he had entered the Lion's Den, and he was here to stay, whatever would come of it.

_Maerisa_

It was a cold morning. Though upon considering it all mornings were cold here. She supposed she should have been accustomed to it, Star's Reach wasn't much warmer. She heard a knock at her door.

"Lady Maerisa?" It was one of her escorts, Lawsen.

"Come in, Lawsen." He entered, his typical armor covered by thick furs.

"Your presence is requested in the great hall."

"Thank you Lawsen." She wrapper her cloak tightly around herself and followed him into the great hall, where she was greeted by Bran Stark, the Maester Luwin, a man she assumed to be the castle's master at arms, Talisa, and two others she didn't recognize.

"Lady Maerisa, allow me to introduce the Lord and Lady Jojen and Meera Reed, Children of Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch and the Neck." Jojen nodded politely.

"Lady Maerisa, pleasure to finally make your acquaintance." His sister responded in kind, and Maerisa greeted them warmly.

"Well," began the Maester, "now that we're all properly acquainted, we should get to business. First, is the subject of supplies. Winter is coming, and we must be prepared. Our supplies are dwindling. We should send out more foraging parties. And stock up on game for the winter to come."

"My men can help with that," Maerisa offered, before the master of arms interjected.

"We thank you, lady Maerisa, but I'm afraid its not quite that simple."

"Indeed." Maester Luwin asserted. "Ever since the treachery at The Twins, Roose Bolton's bastard has been raising hell all across the North. He's burns crops and savages the small folk. We can't send anyone out without a whole contingent of men to bring him in."

"Well then why haven't you?" Queen Talisa questioned.

"Well my queen, put simply we didn't have the manpower. We couldn't spare them from the garrison. But now, my Queen, with your consent, we could send out a party to bring Ramsay Snow to justice."

"Of course you have my support, but I'm not acting lord. Lord Bran, do you agree?" He nodded. Jojen's brow seemed to furrow in concern, but said nothing.

"There is another matter of concern." Jojen stated. "I've received word from my father of sightings off shore of ships. He couldn't discern their identity."

"Wildlings?" The old Maester asked.

"That far south? Unlikely. Have the Ironborn sent word to Robb?" Jojen queried.

"All I know is my husband sent Lord Theon back to Pyke to secure his father's ships. Perhaps the Ironborn are moving. But we've heard nothing from Robb." Talisa answered. "Have we?"

"No, my queen, I'll send another raven at once."

"See that you do. If that's all, I think this meeting can be adjourned." Bran concluded, motioning for a large man to pick him up. Talisa rose, and Jojen, Meera, and Maerisa rose alongside her. She drew her cloak around herself, shivering as a draft ran through the great hall. Candles flickered and wavered as the cold breeze penetrated the hall, their warm glow faltering. A few stewards brought in more logs for the hearths, heating the hall. She was loathe to walk the colder corridors. She hung back, warming herself around the fire, and was joined by Talisa.

"My Queen." She said, acknowledging her.

"I can't tell if I preferred the tents on campaign or these drafty halls. Robb is right. Winter is coming." She joked lightheartedly.

"Well, I'd imagine a bed is always warmer with someone else in it." Maerisa quipped. Talisa smiled, her hand drifting to her belly.

"No. You're right there. Though if what Robb's told me your own stay in camp wasn't uneventful." She replied. Maerisa blushed briefly, before rolling her eyes.

"He was impossible. Besides, it would have been impossible, Greyjoys and Fadyns. There's no shortage of bad blood there." Talisa paused.

"You Westerosi are so strange. I still struggle sometimes to keep track of who hates whom. Rivalries, friendships, alliances, betrayals, you certainly know how to keep a grudge."

"Are things different in Volantis?"

"In some regards yes, in others no."

"Talisa, tell me about it. Do you ever miss it? Coming up here?"

"Well it was beautiful. I remember sitting up on the cliffs, watching the other kids swim on the beach. Feel the sand beneath my toes." She smiled at the memory. "It was beautiful. But I don't miss it. Not for an instant. The marble palaces, all the formalities, the slaves, the servants my father's stern glare." Her voice deepened, her hands going to her hips, mimicking her father. "No daughter of mine will be going to Westeros. Your place is here! Don't you dare leave!"

"And?" Maerisa asked, searching for guidance.

"And I left. I left it all behind. I left my family and made my own path. And I'd much rather be here, help people, use my skills for some good and use my place to do some good. And I'm lucky enough to have met a great man. Don't lose faith Maerisa. Theon hasn't sent word to Robb of what his father means to do. Perhaps there's hope for you yet. Maybe Fadyns and Greyjoys will get along after all. Perhaps the Greyjoys will see sense and strike at the Lannisters for their freedom. The world is changing. Don't be so certain of its rules." She said hopefully, smiling at Maerisa. She smoothed her dress, shuddered at the cold, and turned away, walking from the great hall.

Maerisa remained at the fire, considering Talisa's words for a moment. As she moved to leave the great hall, she was stopped by Jojen.

"Lady Maerisa, if I may have a word?" He asked respectfully, waiting for her assent before continuing.

"Walk with me." He said, leading her along the battlements. It was chilly in the late morning. A few flurries of snow were just beginning to fall. She took a moment to examine the Reed boy more closely. He must've seen nearly as many winters as her, and was roughly her height. He carried himself confidently, though his wiry frame and green eyes seemed to act in a constant state of alertness, as if they are tracking something, always ready for something new.

"Is this your first time this far North, Lady Maerisa?"

"Yes, thank you." She smiled amiably. "Though we get some snow in Star's Reach."

"May I ask, what are you doing this far North? No offense intended of course."

"Well I, Robb told me to come. To accompany the Queen."

"And when is the prince due?" He asked innocently, smiling a bit at the surprise. "Oh I won't tell anyone of course, my lady. Just an innocent question."

"But, a prince? Besides, as I said I'm just here to accompany Talisa, I'm no one of importance." She asked.

"Nonsense. You may be here to accompany Talisa, but you will be of importance, I don't doubt that." He said smiling, before excusing himself. "No, Lady Maerisa, I think you'll be more important to coming events than you know."

"And how do you know that?" She called after him before he turned his head flippantly over his shoulder, a slight glimmer in his eye.

"The same way I know it'll be a prince. A hunch."


	19. Chapter 18

_Author's Note: Hi everybody! Thanks so much for the great response after the last chapter. Since it was a bit short I decided I'd try to get another update out soon since I still have the time to write for now and seem to have moved past the last bit of writers block for now. Glad to see you're all connecting with the characters and enjoying their interactions, hopefully that continues. As for my usual disclaimer, still trying to catch certain elements up that have outpaced one another, so some plot lines may slow a bit or be absent for a bit, but I assure you they will be back. Finally, please continue to let me know what you think of my portrayal of both canon and OC characters and their interactions, as I continue to try and improve them. Some of the dialogue was really fun to write here, so hopefully it's on point. Once again, please don't hesitate to review, its really a great motivator for me! As usual, enjoy!_

_Iagan_

He had been in King's Landing for less than a day, and he already hated Joffrey. He was currently standing quietly among the rest of Margaery's retinue and guard as she had her first audience with the king since her return. The court was sitting and standing in the wings of the throne room, listening intently to Joffrey prattle on and on about his exploits at the battle of the Blackwater. The harbor still bore scars of the wildfire used to burn Stannis' fleet, and hulking wrecks and bodies still occasionally washed up on the beaches, if the rumors were to be believed.

Margaery had presented herself well, to her credit. Cersei had insisted upon Margaery's deference to both her and Joffrey, and though Margaery seemed to happily and humbly comply, he could see the way it rankled her brother, Ser Loras, standing behind them dressed in his Kingsguard amour. Joffrey sat casually on the throne, seeming to dare someone to correct him. He twirled some toothpick of a sword, pantomiming each of his exploits. He couldn't stand the little shit, or his mother for that matter. From the moment they had entered the atrium of the Red Keep he could feel the hate, the hostility in the stones. The columns towered up, their red stone supporting a vaulted ceiling, the tiled floors seemed to be stained with blood.

_I wonder where Ned Stark stood when he was betrayed. _He thought idly, trying to occupy his mind and ignore the growing urge to put an arrow through Joffrey's smug grin and be done with it.

His mother sat behind him, taking long drafts of a cup of wine and eying Margaery as a man eyes an attacker. He didn't like that look. He'd have to keep track of her. She grinned in contempt as Margaery was forced to bow before her, relishing her power and lording it over Margaery at every opportunity. He even once saw the venom in Olenna's eyes, and quietly thanked the Gods it wasn't directed at him.

He scanned the room, searching for other figures of note. He noted Maester Pycelle sitting behind the King, and Tywin Lannister watching the room coldly, dispassionately, much like a wolf watching a flock of sheep. For a moment, the Lannister patriarchs hard gaze rested upon him, and he felt an ice cold chill run up his spine as the gaze seemed to bore through him, but then it shifted to another unlucky soul and his misgivings passed.

Bored, he tuned back into Joffrey.

"You should've seen them burn! They screamed like women, fleeing the flames." He mimicked the voices of men burning in a higher pitch, mocking them. Iagan felt the urge to drive an arrow through Joffrey's skull intensify, and noted his hand drifting to his knife's hilt before he stilled himself.

_Calm. You're here to protect Margaery. Not to do anything that would put her in jeopardy. _He reminded himself.

"And then, oh and then!" The young tyrant seemed gleeful, "One fool charged me. The hound gutted him of course," he said dismissively, "but I castrated him! If only Stannis had been there. I would've cut the old prick down myself and sent him bit by bit to each of the lords of my Kingdom. Tell me my Queen, have you ever seen a battle?"

"No, my King." Margaery said idly, and as Joffrey continued her gaze drifted to Iagan out of the corner of her eye. He raised an eyebrow. In an instant, a conversation seemed to pass between them.

_Really? This one? You promised yourself to THIS one? _He asked silently.

_Oh for gods sake shut up. _She communicated with an indiscernible eye roll. _Do something productive. This is horrible._

_You wanted to marry him._

_Iagan!_

_Fine. Fine. Sorry…_

Margaery tilted her head slightly, jutting her chin to one of the wings of the hall and immediately returning her attention to Joffrey.

_I'm sure you'll be very happy with him. _He added, and she seemed to notice it and shot him a quick look. The message was clear.

_Enough Iagan! _

_Alright! Alright. I still don't know how you caught that one. _He could practically hear her chuckled reply.

_Because I'm more observant than you, Ranger._

He looked over to where she had indicated. A lady stood quietly, flanked by two tall, armed Kingsguard. She had fair skin, and was a bit taller than most. Her auburn hair was done up in the southern style, but she didn't carry herself as a southron lady. Her eyes seemed to have a constant tear in their blue gaze, and seemed to be fraught with fear, exhaustion, and sadness.

_Ahh. Sansa Stark. _He'd have to make contact with her at some point. The question of course was how and when. _Well done Margaery. _He thought. It appeared he'd be of some use today after all, he returned to the exchange between Margaery and Joffrey.

"No, your grace. I'm afraid I haven't."

"Oh you must see one! They're absolutely thrilling."

"I'm sure your grace. Though I must say I sincerely hope I never have to see one that threatens your grace again." He seemed to sour at this response.

"I wasn't threatened." He said indignantly. "There was no danger from Stannis' pitiful attack. Who could threaten me!" He spat.

"Of course, your grace." Margaery backpedaled. "I merely meant I hope we'll soon have peace and be done with the peril of battle."

"Oh there will be peace." He assured her, a tone of anger creeping into his voice. "Though I suppose a fear of battle is what I should've expected from a woman." He said disdainfully. The court was silent for a moment, before the Queen Regent interrupted.

"Well, my son, I'm sure you're betrothed is tired from her journey and would like to find her chambers." Cersei stated, seeming to conclude the audience, and the court began to trickle out of the throne room. Margaery returned to her retinue, and as Iagan moved to follow her, she passed him and whispered quietly.

"Introduce yourself to Lady Sansa." He nodded discreetly, before gripping his blade and trailing after the Stark girl, escorted by the two Kingsguard. They led her to her chambers before taking positions outside the door. He moved to enter before he was stopped by a mailed gauntlet.

"What do you want." One of the guardsmen asked gruffly. Iagan was thankful his helmet concealed his face.

"I simply carry an invitation from Lady Margaery for Lady Stark. I don't suppose I could enter?" He asked meekly, but with a degree of amiability. The two seemed to size him up. For once, he was glad he looked totally nonthreatening. They opened the door, and moved to follow him in.

"Oh that won't be necessary sirs, I'll only be in for a moment." He did his best to sound convincing. "Besides, the Lady Margaery would rather her correspondence be kept private." He stated, attempting to cow the two guards.

"We're on strict orders." One told him.

"Aren't we all." Iagan laughed. "Look, its an innocent invitation to walk with her in the gardens. What's the girl going to do? Steal my sword and rampage through the castle?" He asked. The guard smirked at the thought.

"Fine. You've got two minutes, and not a second more."

"Thank you, lord." He entered Sansa's chambers. They were small. He was nearly reminded of the quarters he had been kept in back in Highgarden.

_Gild a cage it remains a cage. _He thought sympathetically, before wondering at when he developed a capacity for sympathy. _Gods I hate acting normal. It's corrupting me. _Sansa sat at the window, looking out at the bay. She seemed to refuse to acknowledge his presence.

"Lady Sansa?" He cleared his throat, trying to draw her attention. She turned, fixing her gaze on him.

"What do you want?" She asked disdainfully, her voice full of months of pain and sadness. Iagan sat, picking up an quill and dipping it in ink, and began to write on a leaflet of paper.

"I serve Lady Margaery." He began, speaking as he wrote. "I've been told to invite you to meet my lady in the gardens tomorrow to walk the grounds. She hopes you'll be able to join her. She also sends her condolences for your father, and hopes to find a friend in you." Sansa eyed him coldly and suspiciously, watching him write, unsure of what to say.

"Invited? Or summoned?" She asked.

"Invited." He asserted. She paused, seeming to consider it for a moment. He passed her the note he had scrawled.

_Lady Sansa, my name is Iagan Fadyn. I served in the Star's Reach rangers and am loyal to your brother. I'm here to help. I can't get you out quite yet, but know that you have friends in court. I've come with Lady Margaery to help protect her and serve your brother. I'll have to figure out a way to communicate with you more easily, but for now, this will have to do. _She scanned the note, gulping for a moment, before igniting it in a candle.

"Tell Lady Margaery," she paused, a small smile on her face, her eyes grateful, standing a bit taller, "I would be honored to join her tomorrow, I thank her for her kindness, and I hope to speak to her soon." The note burned away, and she smiled once more at him, before he bowed once and excused himself.

_Later_

He quietly entered Margaery's chambers. Compared to Sansa's, her quarters were enormous. Befitting a Queen he supposed. The marble and stone exited out onto a small balcony overlooking the bay, a typically nice view, barring the smoking hulks of Stannis' fleet. Nevertheless, in the late afternoon sun reflecting off the waters and filtering through the room it was a pleasant sight. The room smelled faintly of roses, which hung in baskets around the quarters. Margaery sat by a mirror, brushing her curls of hair, sitting casually in a finely embroidered green and gold dress.

"Well he seemed rather pleasant." He began, and he saw a small smile in her reflection in the mirror at his arrival.

"Drop it Iagan."

"No actually. I can't see why you wouldn't want to marry the little prick,"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"No seriously. He has a lot of charm. I can see why you picked him. What maid doesn't want to spend her days with her love torturing small animals?"

"Enough Iagan." She said with a hint of smile. She turned, setting down her brush and looking him in the eye. "Gods are you jealous?" Iagan paused for a moment, surprised.

"Me? Jealous of him?" He repeated incredulously. "I mean, of course. Who wouldn't envy his… impressive stature… and… creative bloodlust. Why, I'm sure even the Mad King would be jealous of him." Margaery rolled her eyes. He sat down on a nearby bench.

"Gods Margaery of course I'm not jealous! I mean, what more could I want. I've got my stunning good looks." He said sarcastically.

"No." She said sternly, suppressing a smile that was slowly creeping across her face.

"Well how about my legendary wit and tact?" He joked.

"Surpassed only by the mules." She retorted sarcastically.

"Well I've been told I'm quite good with people." At that Margaery couldn't suppress her laughter anymore and began to giggle.

"I mean the first thing one notices about you is your social grace Iagan Fadyn." She laughed. Her smile was absolutely beautiful. Iagan's heart stopped for a moment. They sat quietly for a moment, before Margaery's hand drifted towards his own.

"I'm glad you came with us. It'll be good to have you around. I could use some laughter here." She said, grasping the back of his hand gently.

"Well I'd always wanted to visit King's Landing." He said dismissively, earning him a gentle swat.

"You and I both know you hate cities." He shrugged his shoulders, defeated. "Nevertheless, Iagan, I'm grateful you could come." He did his best to smile, trying to mask the anxiety he felt sitting in the very stronghold of his enemies. "Speaking of people who hate being here, did you speak to Sansa Stark?" Margaery asked, changing the subject.

"She'll be accompanying you in the garden tomorrow. I assume she'll want me to get the occasional message out to her brother. Plus I'd like to speak to her a bit more myself. Perhaps we can manage to smuggle her out or she's heard something useful in her time here. Besides, she's spent more time under that little shit's control than anyone else here. She must know how to deal with him. That could be useful to you."

"Good." She nodded. "Grandmother will be pleased to hear it."

"I should also start getting my own sources, do some research on my own. Troop movements, plans, conspiracies. I've heard the capitol is a very busy place." He said lightheartedly, hiding his fear. "Plenty of interesting people to meet, places to see, things to do." He waved his hand.

"Thank you, Iagan. I can't tell you how desperately we'll need your eyes and ears." Margaery confided in him. He smiled, before noting the setting sun and rising. "Where are you off to?" She asked. "You're not staying for dinner?"

"Well I'd say its about time I got into the city, did some exploring, find some trouble." He laughed. "See what's really going on in this rat's nest." Margaery's raised an eyebrow in concern.

"That's what I was afraid of. Be safe, Iagan. We've come to a dangerous place, and I need you." Iagan backed out.

"My Lady Margaery," he began with a smirk, flourishing with a mock bow, "have you ever known me to be anything but cautious?"

_Trysten_

It was midday in the great pyramid, less than a day and a half since the loss of Ser Barristan. The old knight's advice to him still echoed in his head as he was summoned to a council meeting. It hadn't taken the city long to move on since Ser Barristan's death. Two more attacks from the Son's of the Harpy had occurred the previous knight. He had taken to wearing his armor at all times, except when in his chambers, and despite its weight and the constant heat, he had determined it to be a necessity. Dawnbringer hung at his side, a comforting, familiar presence.

His footsteps echoed down the long corridors of the great pyramid, accompanied by his squires Alek and Ian. They were learning quickly. They were finally competent swordsmen, and he intended to start them on horseback soon, though only the Gods knew where he would find a substitute for the powerful Westerosi destriers. More likely than not they'd have to make do with inferior mounts. What they would lack in equipment however, he concluded, they would more than make up for in ferocity, enthusiasm, and training. Eventually. And after Ser Barristan's death, he'd been forced to take on another squire, Ser Barristan's own. A sort of homage to the great knight.

He reached the council chamber somewhat later than the others. Missandei and Grey Worm were in their usual places. Grey Worm looked exhausted and ragged. He'd been taking double patrols and the constant ambushes were wearing him out. They greeted him with polite nods as he took his place at the table. Daario sat casually at one end of the table, twirling one end of his beard and leaning back in his seat, his feet propped up upon the table, sipping wine. He raised his glass as Trysten entered.

Jorah, as usual, greeted him rather coldly. His two squires, and another of Barristans, moved to take their place with Trysten's own, mingling casually. Meanwhile, Daenerys sat silently, rigid in her place. He could tell, this would not be a calm council meeting. She was fuming.

"Now that we're all assembled," she paused, looking at the empty seat where Barristan once sat, "we can begin. I'm sure you're all aware of last night's attacks. This time not simply against my unsullied, but against my children. They butchered families while they slept, simply because they had been freed. They used the children's blood to paint warnings to me." She said, the words catching in her throat. She collected herself. "And, what would you council?" There was silence, before Daario spoke up.

"My Queen," Trysten didn't like the way he looked at her. There was always a degree of unconcealed lust. Of intensity and ambition in his eyes. But he commanded men, and they were taking squires as well. He wouldn't trust him, but he was needed, and could be relied upon for now. "The only thing that this city will understand is bloodshed. We know exactly where the Sons of the Harpy draw their support. Make examples. Force them into submission. Every day this continues your rule is undermined. They will see you as weak. Assert your control. You are the mother of dragons, show them the fire that will burn those who seek to harm your children. Do unto them what they do. They have families." He concluded, his hand caressing his sword hilt.

"Do we know what exactly they want?" Trysten questioned. Jorah interjected.

"You can't seriously be proposing we cave to their demands. The gods only know they'd only be satisfied if the Queen herself stepped down and brought back the chains."

"No. Of course I'm not suggesting that. But it may do us some good to understand why they loathe the Queen. Undercut their power base as it were, win over the Maesters to our side by showing we respect their traditions."

"Their traditions" Daenerys spat "are to enslave the innocent and crucify women and children as threats. Their traditions" she continued derisively "are to brutalize whole peoples, to trample them into the ground so that they can stand higher, to torment and torture, and to watch people kill and fight for entertainment and sport. It's barbaric!"

"It's their history!" Trysten retorted. Earning him angry glares from Jorah and the Queen. "I wasn't present when the decision was made to crucify leading Maesters, or to leave their bodies for the crows and dogs and forsake the burial rites. But it was folly, and we should not commit the same folly now." The Queen turned her head, seemingly disappointed in him.

"Ser Jorah, what would you have me do?" She asked.

"Khaleesi," he began, glancing over to Trysten, "Daario's approach may be rather extreme. But we know the Maesters are behind the attacks. We know they're the political support, the financing, the equipping of the Sons of the Harpy, and we need to cut out the weed at its source. Make examples." She seemed to listen to him.

"Grey Worm? Missandei?" She requested.

"The Unsullied will do as you command, my Queen." Grey Worm told her.

"Missandei?"

"The Maesters ruled over this city with fear for a thousand years. It was cruelty that built this pyramid and that financed the great harpy that sits on it. It was cruelty when the fighting pits were opened, and now they petition for us to bring them back. Men were forced to fight and die in those pits. We cannot in good conscience reopen them." She asserted. Daernerys considered her words.

"Trysten, Grey Worm, Daario, I expect you to redouble your efforts. I want more patrols. If we need to go into every Maester's pyramid and drag the harpies out by their wings then you shall. But I will not tolerate this any longer! I have had enough of this bloodshed in my city. They were warned of the consequences, and have spat in my face. If they will not join me in this new world, they will watch as the old one burns." She said decisively. "You are all dismissed."

Trysten stood, somewhat melancholy about her verdict. He did his best to continue his duties for the day. He sparred with Alek, Barristan's squire, and Ian, educating them about the finer points of one of Ser Barristan's favorite maneuvers, the double riposte.

It was nearly dark when he finally left the pyramid alongside Daario with a small contingent of unsullied and second sons, perhaps six men. He wanted to move quickly and quietly. The Sons of the Harpy may have been able to choose when they struck, but they had the advantage of the freed slaves. One had brought word of a small gathering in one of the Maester's pyramid. Tonight, they were going to turn the Son's own tactics against them. Their faces and armor were blackened by soot to be unrecognizable. Trysten had even forgone the use of his shield to prevent any identifying insignia. They were to be myths. Nightmares of the Harpy.

By the time they reached the pyramid it was well after nightfall. It was relatively small, the manse and the top lit by torchlight. Figures moved across the windows, illuminated by candlelight and the warm glow from within the pyramid. They took up positions in a nearby shop, watching the house as a number of masked figures converged upon the pyramid, each one entering by a small alleyway. When the moon had reached the middle of the night sky, the stars twinkling down on the arid city, he gave the order to move.

Stealthily, they crept through the alleyway and into the bowels of the villa. He silently drew Dawnbringer from its scabbard, gliding across the smooth tiles alongside Daario. He could hear echoed voices, and light trickled down the tunnel. The villas corridor twisted and turned, with the occasional hall branching off from it, but they stayed in the main corridor, moving towards voices coming from father down. Finally, he reached a corner, and the voices seemed to be coming from the other side. He immediately pressed himself to the cold, grey stone, his breath shallow and quiet, as he signaled to the men that the enemy was near.

He hazarded a look around the corner. Past it was a small, square room. In the center, a gilded bronze table, surrounded by fifteen men in brightly colored cloth, all wearing the gilded masks of the Sons of the Harpy. They spoke intently, though Trysten couldn't understand what was said. Trysten immediately ducked back behind the corner, indicating that the men they were hunting were indeed around the corner. He readied himself, signaling to the others that they would strike.

In an instant, the room was in chaos as he, Daario, and their men charged into the room, flipping the gilded table and cutting into the Harpies. He bashed a man in the mask with his armored fist, sending a mist of blood out from the mouth of the mask before slicing through the thin cloth robes with Dawnbringer and through flesh, blood and bone. He cut at another's hamstring as he tried to run and draw a dagger, sending him collapsing to his knees before he was run through by an unsullied spear. Daario's women, the absurd name for his blades, sliced and danced through the small chamber, barely missing the low ceiling and flicking droplets of blood and gore onto the walls as he cut through three harpies who tried to stand against him. An unsullied spear found another's face, the mask crumpling inward and mixing with the unlucky man's blood and brains, dying the bronze a sticky red as the man dropped to the floor. One attempted a wild slash at Trysten, but he easily parried, knocking the Harpie's blade aside and cleaving through the man's throat before running through another's spine.

Within seconds the carnage was over. Trysten surveyed the damage. The Harpies present had been decimated, none escaping. One whimpered against the wall, clutching at his stomach before an Second Son cut his throat, the man toppling to his side gurgling. For their part, the fight had been relatively bloodless, an unsullied suffering a minor cut to the arm and a Second Son complaining somewhat sarcastically about a chipped tooth. Their strike had been a success.

Until a girl wandered in, apparently drawn by the noise. She was no older than Maerisa had been when he last saw her. She carried a small platter of fruits, apparently for the former harpies, and was dressed as a wealthy Maester's daughter. Upon seeing the carnage, and the Harpie's slayer, she shrieked, rushing over to one of the harpies and wailing pitifully in some unrecognized tongue. The moment she had entered, they had bolted, evading recognition, but as he fled, Trysten caught one last glimpse of the girls grief and desperation as she screamed for help.


	20. Chapter 19

_Author's Note: Hey guys! Hope everyone had happy holidays. With all the free time I'm doing my best to bring you as many updates as I can before school starts up again. I'm really trying to improve my dialogue and interactions, but any advice, feedback, or reviews would be greatly appreciated. If you enjoy the story (or don't), please drop a comment or review, it really does serve as a great pulse check for me on the general feeling. At the very least, between this chapter and the last I've really had a ton of fun writing this. Anyways, see the other chapters for my typical disclaimer. Still catching up, blah blah blah. As usual, enjoy!_

_Maerisa_

She stood on the battlements as the column rode out the gates of Winterfell's citadel. Most of the garrison riding out, besides a small contingent of Talisa's personal guard. She watched as the thunder of hooves receded into the distance, the banners and trumpets fading. The armor of the garrison glinted in the early morning sun, and she could see the trail left in the morning frost from the horses.

She looked to her right, noting another figure watching from a tower. Jojen stood, watching the column disappear on the horizon. She couldn't help but note the sinking feeling she was getting, watching the garrison disappear to hunt Roose Bolton's bastard. Something about it simply felt wrong, and from the way Jojen was watching, something about it concerned him as well.

Eventually, the column passed over the crest of a hill and disappeared, leaving Maerisa standing out in the cold, her breath visible in the early morning chill. Finally, she returned to the keep. She supposed she should make herself useful.

_Daenerys_

It was well into the night when she heard the voices outside her chamber. Tonight Ser Jorah was on watch, as she had sent Daario and Trysten to deal with the Sons of the Harpy. She sat up in her bed, her silk gown flowing around her, listening to whatever was happening outside through the thick wooden doors. She didn't catch much, just small fragments of conversation. It sounded as though it was Trysten outside, speaking to Jorah.

"Get some rest Jorah. I know you're just as devoted to her as I am, but we all need to sleep." He told her loyal knight. His low voice carrying through into her chamber.

"You're sure? After tonight? You'd really rather be here than in your chambers?" Jorah asked calmly. She knew he mistrusted Trysten and retained lingering suspicions. But Barristan had trusted him and she had been given no reason to doubt his loyalty.

"I won't be sleeping tonight anyways. One of us might as well get some rest." She climbed out of her bed, moving closer to the door to hear better. She heard Jorah sigh, and then the almost indiscernible clink of his armor as he stepped aside, and then the sound of footsteps down the corridor. She listened as they receded, and heard the dull thud of Trysten's armor as he leaned against a wall. The sound of the night drifted in through an open window. Crickets chirped, and she could hear the sounds of small birds calling to one another, and bats flitting through the air. Somewhere in the scrublands around Meereen a sand cat roared. She sighed, she wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep now. She opened the door, surprising Trysten, whose hand immediately went to his sword hilt.

"Is something wrong?" He asked quickly, searching over her shoulder for some unseen attacker.

"No! No. Calm down Trysten, everything is fine." She said, easing his hand of his sword hilt.

"Oh. Alright then. How can I be of service? What are you doing awake at this hour?" He asked.

"I heard you outside." She said, smoothing her nightgown and running a hand through her hair, trying to get it into some semblance of order.

"I hope I didn't wake you, I was just telling Ser Jorah that since I couldn't sleep one of us might as well rest. No sense in having two exhausted advisors." He explained quickly, before she cut him off.

"No, you didn't wake me Trysten." She stopped him. He cleared is throat.

"Well… ahem… is there anything I can do?" She sighed.

"Well you might as well come in, since it doesn't appear that either of us are going to be sleeping anytime soon." She said, welcoming him into her chambers. "Please, feel free to sit." She told him gently. He looked incredibly disheveled and exhausted, but thankful for the seat.

"Thank you." She took a moment to assess him. He'd clearly come from the fight with the Harpies. His face was still streaked with ash and soot, darkening his usually tanned complexion, and seeming to make his gold eyes all the more piercing. He had even streaked his reddish gold hair with charcoal, turning it a darkened. He had a small cut on his upper cheek which had crusted over with blood and dirt, and his normally whitish-silver steel armor was dulled by dust and soot, though it still gleamed in the candlelight which illuminated her chambers.

Most notably however was his obvious exhaustion. Ser Barristan had always told her how diligent he was, how hard a worker and devoted he was to her cause, and it was showing. He looked as though he hadn't slept in days, but still his eyes remained alert and focused. Spots of dirt and grime coated his face. Another long cut ran across the back of his hand, and his palms remained caked in soot, blood and dirt.

"You're hurt." She noted with concern, and he looked at the back of his hand, seeming to notice the long cut for the first time.

"Huh." He said, seemingly at a loss for words. "I'm fine."

"You really should clean that." She told him, remembering with some sadness the wound that killed her sun and stars. He nodded, moving over to one of the large dishes which held water for her to wash her face and hands with. He scrubbed his hands, the water turning dark and murky as layers of grime and soot washed off. The cut began to bleed again, and as he washed his face and ran his hands through his hair to remove the grime a drop of blood fell into the vessel. He flexed his hand, noticing the cut but seemingly unfazed by it.

"Know it like the back of your hand." He said quietly, noting the irony.

"Trysten." She said, getting his attention. "What's wrong. You're quieter than usual. What happened tonight?" She asked concerned. Whatever had happened, it was clearly bothering him.

"It all went as you commanded, My Queen" she raised an eyebrow, "Daenerys." He corrected himself, apologizing. "We took them by surprise, no casualties, Daario fought well." He assured her, but remained reserved. Apparently everything had gone well, so it certainly wasn't another loss that was weighing on his conscience.

"Trysten, you've served me loyally for some time now. You've served me well."

"I am your loyal servant my que- Dany."

"Seven Hells Trysten!" She exclaimed. "I called you in here because I wanted some decent company. Someone to talk to. Drop the formalities." She laughed, attempting to set him at ease, but he still sat rigidly. She could tell he was still assessing the room, looking for enemies. "Now why do you insist on that?" She asked him, exasperatedly.

"I serve you, Dany. I'm here to protect you."

"You're here to do as I command." He nodded. "Then do as I command, and talk to me." She pressured him. He sighed, leaning back into his seat and rubbing his face. "Now speak to me honestly." She told him, pouring them each glasses of wine, which he accepted gratefully. "So what shall we speak of?" She asked him lightly. He shrugged. "Gods you can be boring. Grey Worm makes for better conversation." She laughed. "Trysten," she said, holding eye contact with him, "I need a friend." His expression seemed to soften, and past the exhaustion she could see a flicker of energy and awareness.

"What would you like to talk about, your grace. Dany." He corrected himself again before she could interject.

"See?" She smiled. "It's not really that hard. So tell me about your home. Star's Reach. Do you miss it?"

"It's a beautiful place. I believe you'd like it. I've seen my share of fortresses, but nothing compares to Star's Reach. The legends say it was built by the first men on the site of a fallen star. A castle carved into the very marble and white limestone of the mountain, overlooking our bay. My father used to say five hundred men could hold it against ten times their number."

"Did you spend much time there?" She asked.

"Not as much as I would have liked. But when I was there I was happy." He smiled. "Iagan- my bother, he elaborated, we used to sneak out and go into the city. The port. We'd play around the docks and see the sailors unloading and listen to them talk about all the far off places they'd visited. We'd run around the city and listen to people speaking their foreign tongues and praying to all their gods, or run through the woods and orchards outside the city walls." He recounted, his mood lightening. "Once, we even dove from the cliffs into the bay. My mother nearly killed us when she heard about that one." He recounted.

"What of your family? Have you heard from them?" She asked.

"Not yet. I sent word out when I requisitioned Star's Reach for a contingent of Rangers or more silversides, or even knights, but I'd imagine the message hasn't reached them yet. I haven't spoken to Iagan since our father was killed. I assume he's still with Robb and the Rangers, assuming the war is still being fought. And Maerisa was riding to join Robb's host. I'd left my mother in charge of running the affairs of the city in my absence. They would've expected word from me by now. I wonder if they even know I'm alive. Where I am. If they need me…" He trailed off, growing somber.

"Trysten, you know one day I'll go back. We'll return."

"I know. I know…" He said quietly. It must've been nice to have had a loving family. She had forgotten the sacrifices he had made to serve her.

"Tell me what I need to know. Tell me about Robb Stark." She said, trying to change the subject.

"He's a good man. We practically grew up together during my time at Winterfell. His father, Eddard, was a good man. An honorable man. He and my father were friends, we answered when Robb called the banners to answer for his father's imprisonment. Robb is young, probably around our age. The girls used to love him. He'd just been married when I left. A Volantene girl, Talisa Maegyr."

"The one whose father you had been sent to find." Trysten nodded. "He's a good man, Robb. You'd do well to seek his support when we go back to Westeros. He's honorable." It was ironic. Here she sat with the son of one of the men who had deposed her father and sent her into exile, talking about another of the usurper's dogs' sons. She chuckled at it, taking a sip of wine. Trysten took another sip of his own, before turning to her.

"So what about you Dany. What do you remember?"

"I just remember fleeing the years on the run, and then the manse in Pentos with Illyrio and Viserys." She said, taking another sip of wine. It was strange to think about. For all she had heard about Westeros, from Jorah, from Viserys, it was all just that. What she had heard. She couldn't even remember the place she called home.

"What about Viserys?" She shook her head, indicating that she didn't want to talk about him. The conversation continued, as they finished off a bottle of wine.

"Trysten," she interrupted, "why couldn't you sleep?" She asked, and he seemed to grow serious again.

"I'm going to have decision to make tomorrow." He stated plainly. She signaled for him to elaborate. "Dany, tonight I killed men. It wasn't the first time, and it certainly won't be the last. It needed to be done. But then, before we left, a girl found us, probably about the same age as Maerisa. Found the bodies. One of them must've been her father. And I'd killed him. And all I could think of was what I would do if someone had invaded my home. If a foreigner sat in the Starseat and cut down the weirwoods. And I'm not sure I would act differently, if I was in their place." He confessed. She began to understand. He was conflicted.

"You think I'm being too harsh? That their actions are justified?" She asked, confused and vaguely irritated.

"No, of course not. You need to show strength. But why not try and win their hearts and minds. Show them that you respect their culture, their traditions. Reopen the fighting pits" he urged her.

"Are you mad?" She interrogated incredulously. "You want me to reopen the fighting pits? Send more innocents to die."

"It wouldn't be forced. I'm sure there are men who would volunteer. It's a job."

"It's barbaric."

"How is it any different than what I did tonight? We live, we fight, we die. I've pledged myself to you, to fight for you. Why can a man not fight for pay?"

"I need you to fight for me. You fight out of duty."

"And their families need them to fight!" He insisted. "Where do you expect them to find pay? Or food. When they watch their wives and children starve because they couldn't earn pay in the fighting pits."

"And what? I should make those same families into widowers?"

"Do you honestly believe that this will ever get any better until you've been shown to adopt their customs? Dany, this isn't a war we can win! I can go kill a hundred harpies, but as long as you're seen as a foreign oppressor, two hundred more will take their place. All its doing is creating martyrs! We cannot win this fight! And the longer it goes on, the more people are going to die. Innocent people Dany. Your people! Meet with the Maesters. Hear their demands, compromise with them!"

"You've gone absolutely mad. When was the last time you slept?" She asked, feigning concern. "I will not bow to the demands of killers and slavers!" She insisted, anger building.

"It never ends! Dany, I've seen how this goes! They kill one of ours, we kill one of theirs, and on and on it goes. Its a wheel, and eventually, we're going to get ground into the dust by it. It will never! End! All it will do is breed more resentment, more hatred, and more innocent people will die!" He said, his voice rising as he tried to make her see. "Tomorrow, you're going to ask me to go out into the streets and drag men and even young boys from their homes and slaughter them to send a message. And that, I will not do. Or I will never sleep again."

"What?" She asked angrily. "Are you saying you'll refuse a direct order from me?" She said, her temper rising. This young lordling dared to defy her?

"You can't seriously think that this is justice Dany! To drag people into the streets and kill them? It makes us no better than them!" He retorted, his apparently melancholy mood supplanted by defiance.

"No better than them?" She shouted angrily. "I'm not the one who nailed children to posts to mark the way! I'm not the one who forced innocents to fight to the death for amusement! I'm not the one who sells men, women, and children, and splits them from their families! Everything I do, I've done for their benefit. And you dare to compare me to them?" She demanded, and she could see his own frustration.

"It isn't justice Dany. You mean to just execute them? Without trial? Who will follow you Dany. Its criminal. The last King I'd heard of who did that incited a rebellion and was stabbed in the back by his own Kingsguard!" That took things a step too far. She was furious. Who was this lordling, this child of one of the rebels, to lecture her on morality or justice? The dragon within her had woken.

_Who is he to speak to me like this? I've lived my life in fear. He grew up in luxury, resting on the comfort of his father's crime, living as a soldier and a lord. I've lived on the run! Because of his family! And he dares to lecture me on justice? Was it justice when my brother was killed by the usurper? Or when my nephews brains were dashed against a wall and his mother raped? _

"You go too far Trysten! I am your Queen!" She raged.

"YOU go too far, your grace" he said.

"These men are monsters. Cruel and heartless, and if not for me they'd let this city slide right back into the hell I found it in. Do you think they care for the people as I do? Do you even understand the evil within these people?" She demanded from the young lordling. "These are my people! I am the the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Queen of Meereen, breaker of chains, the Mother of Dragons!" She exclaimed. "And I will do what is best for them. How could you possibly understand their plight?" She said, shaking with fury. Trysten calmed himself, undoing the straps on his breastplate. and allowing it to fall to the floor, exposing his undershirt.

"How could not understand? How could I not understand!?" He said furiously, turning his back to her and pulling his shirt off. Her breath caught in her throat. His back was covered in scars. The long scars crisscrossed and ran across his shoulder blades and lower back, lashmarks. In some places the wounds still hadn't completely healed, as the flesh was still red and split in some places. "Believe me Dany! I understand!" He said turning back to her. "I lived it." He said, beginning to calm. "And I still know, this isn't the best course." Her rage began to melt away.

She was shocked. Ser Barristan had mentioned that he had been taken as a slave with his men, but it had never quite sunk in until she saw the scars. He carried himself as such a proper, dutiful lord. She couldn't imagine him as a slave.

And Ser Barristan.

_My loyal knight. Dead because of me. It was my fault. I had demanded we take the city, against his council. He had been patrolling the city for me. It was my fault. He had fought for me. He had come to serve me. And he had died for me. _She suddenly felt tears running down her face, she could taste the salt in her mouth. She felt her shoulders shudder.

"They killed Ser Barristan." She said, her voice wavering, barely a whisper, so quietly he didn't even hear her. A single tear running down her face.

"What?"

"They killed Ser Barristan!" She sobbed, collapsing to her knees. Tears now flowed freely, and she was wracked by sobs. Tears splattered on the stone tiles. Trysten rushed to her, grabbing her by the shoulders and hugging her tightly to him, pulling her close to his chest. "It's my fault." She wept. "He's dead because of me. He died for me!" She sobbed, her tears running down his bare chest as he continued to hold her. "They killed him because of me. It's my fault. And now he's gone!" She cried, eventually losing track of her words and simply giving in to her grief.

And then she heard Trysten. She could hear his heartbeat in his chest, feel his hands rubbing her back, bringing her back to her senses. There was something calming in his touch, in his embrace. And then he began to murmur quietly to her, barely audible above her sobs.

"Shhh. Shhh Dany it's okay. It isn't your fault. It's not your fault." He told her. She looked up at him, his gold eyes empathetic and compassionate.

"He was following my orders. He was serving me."

"Dany, it isn't your fault. He knew what the risks were." He said reassuringly, his voice low, calm, and steady. "The Harpies killed him, not you. He chose to serve you. He chose you Dany." He said, drawing her close as she shook uncontrollably. "The man served three kings, and still saw you as worthy, still was willing to pledge his life to you. He knew the risks. You inspired him Dany." He consoled her. "He thought you were worth dying for."

"I just miss him so much," she wept.

"I know. I know. I miss him too. He was one of the greatest knights, one of the greatest men" he corrected, "I've ever known. But he would want us to carry on. To stay strong. I know you're angry. I know it hurts, but massacring them won't bring him back. Revenge won't make you feel any better. I know, I've tried. It doesn't fill the hole they leave behind." He comforted her as she calmed down, her sobs coming slower and weakening. "It isn't your fault," he repeated, and she looked up at him. She must have looked terrible, her eyes red rimmed, her hair disheveled. His smooth hand wiped a tear from her cheek, and he smiled sadly. "But it won't bring him back." She looked down.

"Look at me, Dany." He said, taking her chin in his hand and standing up, bringing her to her feet. She stayed held tight to him, taking comfort in his arms.

"Do you know why he loved you, why he followed you? Why I follow you?" He asked sincerely. She gave a small shake of her head. "Because you're a good Queen. He saw it in you. My father saw it in you, somehow. You're kind. You're merciful. You care for your people. Its what makes them love you, makes them willing to die for you. You can be a great Queen." He told her. "But I know if he was here he'd tell you to do the same thing I'm telling you." He said as the last of her tears and sobs finally stopped.

"My father once told me," he began, "that rage is like the water in the ocean. You can sail your ship on it, it can carry you where you want to go, it might even support you, but if you let the water get inside your ship, you'll sink. You can't let it in, Dany. Honor his memory, be the Queen he thought you were. That I think you are."

She finally calmed herself, restoring her senses. He released her, stepping back. They were silent for a moment, neither wanting to be the first to speak.

"So, I suppose I'm dismissed from your Queensguard?" He asked finally.

"No."

"You know I won't do what you ask me to do tomorrow." He asserted.

"I won't ask you to, you're right, Trysten."

"You mean-"

"Yes."

"Daario and Jorah won't like it," he warned.

"Well then I suppose it's a good thing I'm the Queen." She smiled, trying to regain her composure.

"Well, you should rest, your grace," she suddenly realized just how tired she was, she didn't even have the energy to correct him. He led her gently to her bed and she sat down on the silken sheets, smoothing her gown around her, its soft silk damp from her tears. "If that will be all your grace, goodnight." He bowed lightly, and then turned, gathering his undershirt and breastplate and moving towards the door.

"Trysten," he paused, "Thank you." She told him, and he continued towards the door. Something still didn't feel quite right. She didn't want to be alone.

"Trysten, wait." She stopped him. "Please, stay with me." He paused, unsure of himself.

"Of course, your grace." He replied, settling down into one of the couches in her chamber. Then, they were silent, as she began to drift off to sleep, Trysten sitting in the couch, her vigilant Queensguard. Her loyal advisor.

"One last thing," she began.

"Yes, your grace?"

"When you told me that, all of it, were you speaking as my advisor?" She asked, nervous for the answer.

"As your friend." He smiled, and with that, she drifted off to sleep.


End file.
